The Haunting Grounds: The Shards of Hope
by Zvezda616
Summary: The quest for survival began when Fiona woke up in the darkest hells of a place unknown - a captive for the demented, it would seem. Was there any hope of escape when nightmares walked across the hallways and chased her to the core? If so, what would it demand, if not a sacrifice of her own life? This is a lesbian retelling of the events depicted in Haunting Ground/Demento (PS2)
1. Prologue

**Haunting Ground - The Shards of Hope  
** _ **by Liriane Kuerten and Zvezda "Zake" Kuerten**_

 _ **o - o - o - o - o**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_

 _ **Haunting Ground/Demento is a copyright of Capcom and we, Liriane and Zvezda, claim no ownership of the product and/or it's own trademarks, nor of any of it's related contents. We do, however, own our original contents displayed throughout this project.**_

 _ **Please note that we do not make money from this project, and never will. If someone sold it to you, please seek appropriate help (together with proof) so that the criminals may be punished.**_

 _ **Also note that this disclaimer won't be attached to every chapter. It's only attached here, yet it's meanings are cemented to any and all chapters published throughout the project.**_

 **o - o - o - o - o**

 **Arc I: The Belli Castle  
** **Chapter I: Prologue**

A lightning bolt that cut through the skies and hit both of her eyes.

The man's robed face outside the window's glass together with it's creepy smile.

The sound of horns.

A hit, another and other that shook her world to it's very core.

The gurgling screams.

The unfathomable pain.

The ethereal darkness.

She remembered it all...yet couldn't seem to understand a single one of it's shards.


	2. The Warmest Welcome

**Arc I: The Belli Castle  
** **Chapter II: The Warmest Welcome**

" _ **These images hauntingly look like hell..."  
**_ _ **Chevelle - Panic Prone**_

A scream ripped off from the depths of her throat before she could find the will to wake up for real. It spread out the dryness up to her mouth and the coughs took hold of her being, forcing her to to sit up or risk suffocation.

Her eyes watered and her vision blurred to hell and below as she blinked out her disgrace. It didn't took long for her to try and reach for them, though, and the simple action was the catalyst of the first of her startling discovers: Her body was bare.

She forced her eyes back open and fought against her nausea to stand up on her fragile shaky legs. She was indeed naked, but was covered with a thin blanket, at the very least. Her small relief was short lived, though, for the realization of being trapped inside a metal cage stabbed her in the heart as soon as her vision grew used to the darkness and to the candlelights.

Another scream almost broke free from her throat, but she managed to overcome it's tantalizing desires. She could feel the panic start to creep through to her core, but pushed it to the back of her mind for the sake of a sanity she wasn't sure she could still claim to retain.

She let her eyes swim across the place, and regretted it as soon as they spotted the vast amount of ripped-off limbs across the place. They dangled from long chains, stood upside various tables and some of them were inside a cage twin to her own, too. The limbs were not human, it wasn't hard to realize, but they were the complete opposite of the ones one would see at a market, that's for sure. For once, the ones at the market would be clean and wouldn't smell like the insides of a rotten wolf.

Thankfully, though, her eyes also noticed the small padlock outside the bars of her cell. It was opened, and she lost not to her disgust as she threw the small door open and crawled out of the cage. It produced a loud metallic squeak, and she only hoped that whoever took her captive was deaf to it's deafening scream. The growling she heard from the dark corner behind her back said otherwise, though.

The muscles of her throat made themselves clear as she gulped down hard. They burned her insides with such intensity that her legs finally gave in and she crashed down to the ground, almost releasing the blanket from the vice-like grip of her hands.

Her eyes widened as two small, yet hard objects pressed upon her shoulders, and they refused to regain their composure even as the beast jumped away from her and ran up the set of stairs at the other end of the room. They did notice the small shiny object that fell down from the creature's fur as it ran away, though.

It took her a while to regain her breathing and she still approached it with caution. It was not that she thought of it as a dangerous killing device, but, the way she saw it, it might as well just be one. She let her eyes take in it's brown leather and it's silver plate as she took it in her hands. It was a small collar - probably one used to identify an animal.

"Hewe?" Her lips curled back and the word came forth without her permission. It was the word carved in the metal. Most likely the animal's name. It felt natural in her lips, somehow, and she quite liked the way it sounded, yet couldn't shake off the feeling of wrongness it brought upon her.

She let out a long, yet breathless sigh. As much as she'd like to take it with her, she had no pockets to store it in, nor could she make sure to keep both the collar and the blankets with her at all times. In the end of the day, her modesty won over her childish desires, and she dropped the object back to the ground.

It was with great trepidation that she approached the stone staircase - the same through which the animal climbed. She eyed it's dirty steps and waited a second to regain her composure before she allowed her legs to move up it's body. She took in the light coming from it's ending, and she knew that once she had reached it, she would never climb it down again. She wouldn't dare to experience the things she saw back there in the dark for a second time.

 **o - o - o - o - o**

It took a good while for her eyes to adjust to the outdoor brightness. The sun rays weren't that hot nor were they that bright, and it was clear the day would soon come to an end. There was no way she could suppress the cold shivers that ran down her spine. Her situation was already bad enough at day. No need worsening it by bringing in the night.

She took a moment to observe the place, but was deeply disappointed when all she saw were fences and high walls. They formed a perfect pathway to somewhere in the distance she couldn't really place. She could almost swear, though, that she could just hear the sound of running water if she listened close enough.

She clutched the blanked to her breasts and took steady steps along the pathway. Another pair of shivers took hold of her frame, but those were born from the cold ratter than the fear, and she couldn't be sure if that was a good thing. There was a bench to her right, and for a second she contemplated how relaxing it'd be for her to sit down and enjoy it's wooden surface, yet the abrupt reminder that her captor could be just around the corner was enough to cross the idea completely off her mind.

The moment she left the pathway was also the moment she realized how out of her comfort zone she truly was: The big walls were the walls of a house with equally big stairs; There was a beautiful and slowly flowing fountain in the middle of a circle of neatly pruned hedges; There were countless small decorations on the walls and even the grass had been treated with the utmost care.

The place vomited richness, and the thought stopped her on her tracks.

If her captor was rich, then why did he captured her in the first place? Why would someone which such a huge amount of richness be out for her head? Had her parents pissed of someone?

"My parents!" Her eyes widened in realization as she whispered the most painful words since she had woken up behind the metal bars. How could she forget them? How could she forget her parents? Where were they? Were they alright? How could she make sure? What could she do? What if they weren't alright? What if they were dead? What if she was...

The blanket fell from her hands and she took a shaky step backwards just as her legs gave into the pressure that overwhelmed her mind. Her ass hit the ground hard and she could feel tiny rocks slice across it's skin, but the physical aspects of her paint paled in comparison to the mental turmoil that crept to the very bottom of her soul.

The world around her began to blur as she used her palms to cover her ears. Her ribs hurt from hyperventilation, and a bloody scream prepared to exhibit itself out her mouth, yet drowned in the sorrow of her throat, utterly unable to alert any bystander, but right on point to pierce her heart with a knife.

Her teeth sank down on the inside of her cheeks and a discharge of pain jolted her awake from the beginnings of a panic attack. It wasn't enough to heal her from it's symptoms, though - it never was -, and thus it was the hardest of chores to filter the air through her lugs enough to stand her own ground, but she managed it somehow.

Shaky hands brushed the dirt from her buttocks and took new hold of the blanket. She spread it evenly across her midsection and pressed it firmly to her breasts, all the while using the stone walls as support in case her legs decided to give in once more.

She tried to keep her respiration in check while she looked across the yard. There was a metallic gate to it's left, but there was no way to be sure if it was opened, and there was nothing to hold herself against to get to it, anyway. There was also a big tree to her left, much closer than the gate, but all it did was display it's beauty, which wasn't much compared to the fountain, anyway. And at her right, just around the corners of the wall she rested against, laid the biggest staircase she had seen in her entire life.

A heavy gulp descended her throat as she made her way up the steps. She wasn't sure it was the best idea - to climb such a huge staircase soon after escaping what could've been a major panic attack -, but it was her best shot. She could see the lights shining from the top of it, and knew that they lead to the insides of the house. Hopefully she'd find some clothes to change into and a place to rest for a while. Then she could make her way out of the place before the sun decided to settle down and she'd be forced to make her way out in the dark.

 **o - o - o - o - o**

She heard the pendulum ticks way before she crossed the door. It's loud reverberations swallowed the door squeals whole, and it was a wonder how she even noticed their pleas. The clock was an antiquity on itself. It's huge frame stood tall across the room and it impregnated the place with a presence far beyond the horizons of an object's daydream.

Her hands clutched the fabric harder against her own frame as one of her feet pushed back the door until it's closing click penetrated her ears. It didn't scream out loud, and she let escape the air she knew not to imprison in her lungs. There was no telling what could happen if anyone spotted her inside what could easily be her captor's bedroom.

She let her eyes roam across the room and was disturbed by the small television that sat on top of a table nearby. It was quite the old model, yes, but it was more than enough to crack a devious contrast with the far more ancient decor of the whole place. Even the stone fountain outside exhaled an air that no object younger than a few decades could hope to produce.

For a second she considered switching it on, if only to test it's multicolour display, but a fractured glimpse of the gargantuan painting at the far wall - the one near the clock and a twin door to the one behind her back - incarcerated her attention enough to erase the notion off her head.

Her legs took her up a pair of siamese stairs - the contrasts howled louder by the second, it would seem - but her eyes wandered off to the door rather than the painting, and she found herself unable to comprehend it's true self. The wooden object was a daunt to her eyes. It stood rigid on it's frame as if to mock the apprehensiveness that crawled up her back.

Could it lead to a closet of sorts? Maybe to a hallway or a bathroom? What was there to guarantee her that it was not her captor's hideaway? Or could it possibly be another set of stairs? Would it be a good idea to check it's fortune before exploring the bedroom, or would it culminate into a terrible mistake?

She held not the answers to any of her mind's questions, but, when the air she held broke free of her lungs as she closed in on the door, she knew there was no turning back. Her shaky right hand curled around the bulbous knob, and her eyes shielded themselves from it's bone-chilling strike. Yet she could not force herself to touch it - to twist it's body around and bore into it's reverse.

Sweat droplets snaked down her spine and the muscles of her throat devoured the dryness of a knot. Tiny hairs took unsteady stances at the back of her neck as a forbidden desire never to unsewn her eyes shut stabbed against her heart. The cold realization of her fragile modesty shook through her core, and suddenly the blanked was not enough to cover her anymore. It was like she was naked in the dark, utterly abandoned to the darkest desires of whatever creatures gnawed at it's hiding spots - almost as if there was someone beh-

She spiralled her body around and pressed her back against the closed door. Her mouth vomited a loud gasp as her wide eyes fixed upon the lone figure revealed by the candlelights.

It was the figure of a tall woman - the most beautiful she had ever seen. Her skin was as pale as the sheets that rested above the bed, and her face a mask of cold indifference rivalled only by the blank walls that caged them from every side. A light lavender bang obscured one of her eyes while twin pigtail ringlets twisted and twirled around her neck. They conjured shadows upon the dark turquoise outfit that seemed to cling perfectly to her frame, almost hiding it's bizarrely unique designs - ones she couldn't bring herself to understand.

"I gathered some clothes for you" One of the woman's arms crept up towards the bed as she spoke. There was a parasitic hollow impregnated deep inside her vocals that sent fearful shivers up all listeners' spines. It was almost like a snake's hiss - a mock alarm that does nothing but to terrify a person towards their unavoidable fate.

She dragged herself off the wall and away from the door as the woman reached her previous spot. Her eyes never let the void ones that cemented themselves at it's the knob, but she could not keep the stuttering protest from breaking free of it's feeble chains. "Wait. Don't go."

She gulped down a mouthful of ashes and sand when the dead orbs clashed against her own. The pendulum orchestra was all that echoed in the insides of the walls, but she'd bet her heart would've been louder had it the chance to jump out of it's own set of walls. She subdued the dryness that conquered her mouth - albeit shortly - and forced the questions out before time decided to twirl it's body once more. "Um...Excuse me, but, where are we? And how did I get here?"

The pendulum seemed to still itself before the words as utter secrecy tore the room apart. The winds outside dimmed down to breezes and the far off birds suffocated on their own cries. Even the furniture refused to breathe out it's cracks, as if apprehensive of the backlash of such despicable act of blatantly disrespect.

Cold shivers wormed their way into her heart as the maid's eyes danced away from hers to cement themselves somewhere she could not see. "Yes, Master..." Were the raspy words she received, and she felt an inquiring desire on her tongue right before the words continued their flood. "We will keep her here for a while...I will make sure she stays comfortable..." Her voice was slow and detached, yet carried the weight of thousand needles scattered around a flame. It was like she didn't knew how to sound the words correctly, almost if her throat had not being made to pronounce them out loud, even.

She would forever look back at that moment in time and wonder if it was curiosity or trepidation that made her trace the path to end of the other's line of sight, but the mere sight of the painting was enough to erupt her world ablaze and melt any reasoning off her head - enough to force her to her knees as loaded breaths exploded inside her chest.

It was his face, wasn't it? The face of the man that reigned tyrant over her nightmares? It was the same face as the one stretched across the painting's frame, wasn't it? The face of a half bald man in his elder years whose eyes carried the weight of grace in their irises and of death in their glow.

The answer arrived together with a major case of amnesia firmly related to her bodily senses, yet it was ratter simplistic and final: Yes, it was.

 **o - o - o - o - o**

The storm rang loud in the core of her ears and she felt the muscles of her face twist to angles they weren't supposed to. The colours died out of her eyes as the world blurred in and out of existence before their glare.

And there it was again - the lighting bolt. It tore the skies with vengeance and assaulted her vision with whiteness far creepier than the darkest hell of night. It was not what daunted her joints, though. No. It was the visual reminder of the male's face outside the window. A face who spilled venom off a smile, as if in a dare not to avert her eyes; a face that began as a nightmare and slowly crept it's way into the frail veil of her memories - a face she hoped never to see again.

The sounds deafened her ears and the world crumbled into the endless void of he night. A nefarious headache took hold of her mind and the fatality of her fate was set in stone before the hollow of her heart.

 **o - o - o - o - o**

She felt the liquid contents of her stomach explode against her throat as she woke up from the daydream, but buried them down with a startled gasp for air. She fought a feeble battle for equilibrium while the world around her spun madly on it's axis and her eyes shielded themselves from the power of their offenders, but she managed to force her legs to crawl back upright somehow.

It took her a long while to regain her breathing, not to mention the composure to scan the room for the maid. Her search was fruitless, though, and she felt her teeth gnaw at her lower lips. What the hell had just happened? Was that a vision? A hallucination? Did she really wanted to know for sure?

Her footsteps towards the neatly made bet were anything but it's opposite. She stumbled lightly on the floor and supported herself against the headboard. Steadying herself would be the bloodiest battle, it would seem, yet there was no way she could skip past it's clutches, anyway. She had to relearn to breathe back life into her own veins, after all.

She allowed herself a moment to examine the pile of clothes over the sheets before finally letting go of the blanket's protective embrace. The clothes were folded with utmost care, and she couldn't help but wonder when it was, exactly, that the maid had found the time to prepare such clothes. She did not remembered seeing them atop the bed when she first penetrated the room, after all.

Her hands took hold of the pale shirt as her legs kicked away the blankets. It had too many intricate designs for her to describe, but both the brooch attached to it's top - a blue gem that was darker by the edges - and the way it died down in a triangular pattern intrigued her the most. She didn't recognized it's fabric, yet couldn't help but lust after the way it clashed hungrily against her skin as she wore it with careful moves.

She gripped the lonely black choker and twirled it around a bit before freeing it's blockades and locking it back in place around her neck. If it was a message, it certainly was loud and clear, yet the sheer possibly of it grew snakes in the pits of her chest. No. It was probably just her imagination.

It wasn't hard to wear the skirt, of course, but it's deep purple folds ended far too short for her tastes. They barely encased the entirety of her thighs, not to mention the almost translucent details at it's very bottom. If the shirt looked like a white replica of the maid's upper outfit, then the skirt looked like a replica of a brothel dancer's bottom half.

Her buttocks slumped onto the bed as she took hold of the long leather boots on the floor. They were a dark shade of brown, and her face exhibited her discomfort as she caged herself inside it's clutches. The boots were not physically disgusting - quite the opposite, in fact -, yet the fact they were forged with dead animal corpses was far worse than any feeble trash could ever hope to be.

It was only after her outfit was firmly back in place that she felt the horrible discomfort bulge out of her chest. She risked a glance around to make sure she was alone, but the only disturbance she found was the painting on the wall, and she dared not look too firmly onto it's eyes - they contrasted too perfectly with the leather of her boots.

And it was only after she crept away from the bed that she realized the true discomfort of walking around deprived of underwear. The clothes devoured her frame with abandon - almost too much abandon - and she couldn't help but clench her legs to try and prevent the skirt's fabric from entwining with places it wasn't meant to.

The attire did not ashamed her, but it was enough to make her uncomfortable. She had never used such kind of clothes before, and, while she'd normally be up for trying new things, they were simply not her kind. She wouldn't ever be caught wearing such garments ever again if she had a choice in the matter, not because she thought them offensive, but because their provocative stance was all she didn't needed to deal with, especially after being held captive by some filthy rich lunatic.

She stood in front of the door before she had a chance to realize it and a small puff of air crept out of her lungs as her right hand moulded itself against the doorknob. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to manoeuvre in the outfit, after all. She had to battle against her own instincts to twist the object around, yet somehow emerged victorious from it's gory stand-off.

A quick glance across the room's entrails confirmed the finality of her actions, and her eyes closed a new time as the wood cracked between the walls. The decision was made: It was time to find a way out.


	3. My Dolly

**Disclaimer (even though I said I wasn't putting here anymore): I don't own Haunting Grounds or any characters and/or scenarios that might end up in this work. All I own are my own ideas and my own plots.**

 **No profit is made from this fanfiction.**

 **AN: Hello once more, my darlings! I'm sorry for my long-term absence. As I've said in my other work, Duality, my past months weren't the best and I kinda lost my will to write. My mum, Liriane, the person who co-writes this story together with me also had a rough time, and, giving how much this particular story means to both of us, we decided to put it on hold until we were at a better state of mind.**

 **I'd like to apologize on behalf of us both for the possibility of a lack in quality from the previous chapter to this one. We hadn't touched this work in a while and I fear we might have lost the 'secret ingredient' behind the previous chapters. I'll let you, my dear readers, decide on that.**

 **I hope you enjoy the read!**

 **PS: I'd like to thank you all for the favourites, for the reviews and for the follows. Also for the views themselves. It means a lot to us to know we can reach you guys with our story.**

 **PPS: Daniella won't die in this work. One time is enough to scare both my kid and I (Liriane) for life.**

* * *

 **Arc I: The Belli Castle  
** **Chapter III: My Dolly**

Shadows were cast around the claustrophobic hallway that greeted her eyes. The setting sun outside did little to remove their claws, and instead helped to disfigure their shape. A couple of candles were lit here and there atop small wooden tables. Some of them were accompanied by vases filled with flowers treated with surprising caress. Flowers or not, though, they were too swallowed by the dark.

Her feet took her deep into its eerie entrains, her mind a storm of thoughts she couldn't make sense of. Dealing with pressure-hard situations was never one of her strong points, after all. Her inexperience was to blame for some of it, yes, but there were also the matters concerning her...less willingly controllable aspects.

She shook her head as her eyes took careful notice of a long set of stairs. It crawled downwards from one of the hallway's sides and seemed to spread its roots forever more. It was impossible to pinpoint if the square turn she saw at the bottom was its end or one of its segments. Darkness and architecture were to blame on that one.

Stairs dismissed, she approached the lone door on her own floor. It looked fragile, as if its wooden frame was tainted somehow, yet not an inch less ominous than the previous. Would her apprehensive demeanour ever change while facing those doors, anyway? It would be a problem if it didn't, and not only for her path.

Clouded orange skies greeted her on its opposite side. She was not outside, not fully anyway, nor was she on the rooftop. She was merely in a new set of hallways - would they ever end? It had a roof of its own, but it lacked a set of walls at the same time. Circular pillars supported its structure in a way that it could be easily mistaken by a hanging platform. Or maybe the mistake laid in its reverse.

A few more steps, a couple more breaths, and another wooden blockade gnawing at her chest. It was getting a tad frustrating and way too repetitive for her to deal with, yet she braved forward and captured its knob with an iron grip. There were far worse things than frustration for her to worry about, and to give it importance over them was to give herself to their nefarious intents.

All her false bravado was for naught, though, for the damn thing didn't even budge. It was locked as locked could be, and her heart gave a painful throb at the thought. The notion that every door would've been left open and waiting for her to cross through never crossed her mind, but the realization that her hardships could be so easily thrown offside hit too close to home for her to ignore. That one was purely her fault.

She let go of the doorknob with a heavy sigh, crestfallen and downcast. A blink and her eyes moved away from the cracked floors to the stone supports outside. Another blink and her eyes took in the scarlet veins that tainted one of their frames. Her lungs begged to burst from a violent gasp and her heart threatened to escape up her throat. Her legs shook and her knees gave into her weight, sending her crashing downwards with a terrified scream.

There was blood on the pillars, and it dripped down one of their faces with nothing but sordid malice. It left a red trail on its wake, no doubt a reminder of its painful story, and its path snaked away from the stone to taint a landscape away from eyes unknown.

The blood turned black and the sky morphed into grey as her own blood pumped like drums in the depths of her ears. All colours were set ablaze before her eyes. They burned away from the walls and from the floor, from the lights and from the vines, from her clothes and from her skin. They burned from her eyes, they burned from her mind - they burned from her soul.

o - o - o - o - o

 _The wheels squeaked and her body trembled as the stretcher sped past an infinite number of doors. The lamps that hanged down from a white, maybe beige, ceiling glared directly into her wide, flinching eyes._

 _ **They burned.**_

 _She could swear to have heard a voice, yet whatever it screamed was drowned by the ice cold ocean that swallowed her whole. She could even hear the weird "bubble sound" that was bound to come with an underwater shout. Or was it her own gurgle-driven attempt of a shout? Probably. Who cared enough to know, anyway?_

 _Her world spun around as the stretcher halted it's movements beneath the harsher of the glares. The lamp was square yet for some reason it did not burn her eyes anymore. Maybe she grew used to it or maybe the numbness in her core was just too big for them to affect her anymore. She could not force herself to care either way._

 _"Hold it..." A male voice she could not recognize. Maybe it belonged to the face that blocked the lamplight? No way to tell with his mask in place. "Come on, kid, stay with-" To disappear in the middle of a conversation was a rude thing for a doctor to do, wasn't it?_

 _A blink and everything exploded into white again. No more lamps, no more masked faces, no more squeaking wheels. All that was left was a wall she did not recognize together with its weird design. Who would pin a carpet to a wall, anyway?_

 _Ah...that thing was not a wall. Who could mistake it for one but her own troubled self? It was actually the floor. The dirtied marble floor of a room she remembered far too well._

 _Another blink. A new wall. A real one that time...or so she hoped. It was white like the ceiling from before, but not quite as much. There was something inviting pressed against her back and she made sure to surrender to its embrace. A chair, maybe?_

 _"You're not gonna make it through if you keep this way, Fiona." The voice was as old as the old geezer it belonged to. He was sitting behind a desk placed in front of that same wall - her wall. Were they doctors or view-blockers? It sure as hell felt more like the second. "You need to e-"_

 _Her ears ringed softly and her eyelids became just too heavy to hold in place. They slammed shut in a long, tired blink. White still dominated her vision, but purple cracks spread through it at will. Strange. They almost had the form of a screen. A lamp, mayhaps?_

 _Sobs reached her ears before anything revealed itself to her. They grew heavier and more desperate each time they gave a brief pause, probably for whoever owned them to take a breath. They enticed her mind, but her eyes were far too tired for her to move._ _ **She**_ _was far too tired to move._

 _"Please, don't cry" she felt the words, she heard the words and she heard herself scream them out loud...yet her mouth made no sound. It refused to acknowledge her most desperate desires._

 _Acid-coated spikes crawled with freedom beneath her skin. Inhumane screams echoed to a strange rhythm in her head. And there they were, the squeaking wheels. The sobs grew louder once more. The voices mixed together in one. Her world spun again and again. White melted back to black._

 _"Stop!" Nothing. Not even a twitch. "Please!"_

 _More noises violated her ears. Worse ones. Mechanical ones. They devoured her to the core as if hammers slammed against her skull, and cut through her heart as if knifes finished their dirty masterpiece._

 _"Shut up!" They screamed louder. "Shut up!" Her pain spread faster, harder. "Shut up!" The weakness tainted the last piece she left behind - her mind. "_ _ **Shut the fuck up!**_ _"_

Electricity shook through her frame and her eyes exploded wide with a loud gasp. Her lungs burned and her head twisted to and fro. It fed the war she waged against the acid that snaked up and down in her throat.

A minute, two minutes, or maybe half a dozen of them passed before reality crashed back into her frame; before the memory of blood made itself present once again. Her stomach clenched and she lost the war, emptying its contents with trembling might. Her body failed her as did her breath, but still she managed to miss herself. The floor wasn't so lucky, though, and ended up painted into a bizarre blend of orange and green.

She settled back against the uninviting coldness of the door - when had she approached it, anyway? - and rested her head against its frame. Her heart still throbbed loudly inside her ears, and her mind still twirled a million screams, but the surprise and the fear were gone; the panic was finally gone. She could finally be herself again.

 **o - o - o - o - o**

The wooden construction in front of her marked the repeating of a cycle she dared not be a part of. Blood comes from a source, and chances were those cycles would end with her perspective on the pillar instead of the hallway. Changes were they'd end with her blood instead of her eyes. Yes. Definitely not a cycle she wanted to be a part of.

She twisted the knob again and let her forehead rest against the cold pinewood door when it refused to budge. The small carved sign attached to it read "Library", but it could have been "Tyranny" for all she cared. It sure would fit her situation, at the very least.

A frustrated breath ventured inside her lungs and escaped through her teeth. It calmed her somewhat, but did nothing to encourage her feet. To go back to the hallway was her only option, and her worst one by default.

Visions of red assaulted her eyes as she rested her back against the door. Why couldn't things be easy for once in her life? Hopefully it wouldn't all turn up into another cycle of hers.

"Cycle"; her eyes darted to her lower abdomen at the word. It had passed her by nothing but a single day. She wasn't about to dwell into how terrible an experience it would've been to walk through said hallways with a different set of blood on her clothes. Not to mention how shameful it would be. Humiliating, really.

She let her head bang softly at the door and surrendered to her own two feet. It would do her no good to stay there, anyway. That strange maid could surface out of nowhere and nobody knew what sort of trouble she would sink herself into. Maybe not even the maid herself. It wouldn't surprise her, with how off-minded she seemed at the end of their small...exchange.

A shadow caught her attention a couple footsteps before she could round the corner. It devoured more than half of it, and held one too many human traits to be a mere coincidence. Her eyes fixed on its deformed shape as it grew larger in size, and her heart throbbed in her chest, yet she could not bring herself to stop. Curiosity was, after all, another of her flaws. A dangerous one.

Her throat gulped down the dryness of its walls as she ventured forward on her path. One of her hands shot out to the wall for the support her knees so desperately needed, and her fate sealed itself before her: it was too late to back away.

She was about to round the corner and face whoever it was when something small crashed hard against her chest and sent her down with a startled cry. Pain spread through the partially exposed skin of her breasts in complete disregard of the object's soft frame.

It took her a couple of blinks to realize what it was, and she had to force a nervous laugh down her throat when she did. It was a doll sewed of nothing but rags and dirt. It was so childish, really, to be scared of a children's toy. Except...

An unintelligible grunt penetrated her ears and forced her back into reality. Her eyes widened at the sight of a man dressed in what could pass for the tatters of a work uniform. He was tall, huge in every direction and fat as a pig. And that wasn't the only thing that resembled a pig, too, for her nose's horrified disgrace.

His face contorted through a maze of emotions she could not keep up with as his round, bulged-out eyes glued themselves to the doll at her feet. Spit dripped down from between his awkwardly closed lips and she could swear there was a trail of dried blood attached to his nose.

She crawled backwards on her bent legs, momentarily forgetting how to walk. It was a desperate, yet perfectly valid effort to get the further away from the dirty doll she could manage. And it was a wise decision, too, for the mammoth grabbed the poor thing not long after she had retreated into the hallway.

A button popped off the toy as his hands crushed the thing against his own chest. His mouth carved itself into a toothless smile and he let childish giggles escape as he twisted his body around in a bizarre, yet genuine attempt of a dance. And there was no denying the glee in his eyes as he finally stopped spinning to point them straight at her own. And there was no denying the spark that burned in them as he tossed the thing away like nothing but a bag full of trash, too.

"Huhh" His groan fused with a giggle in a different kind of dance. He stretched his hands towards her fallen frame and made a grabbing motion as she forced herself back to her feet.

"Dolly..." Another giggle. She looked to the hallway behind her shoulder and took a step back into its darkened insides. Her heart raced, her lungs burned and cold sweat dripped down her back as she stared into his gleeful eyes.

"Dolly..." He repeated with no giggle. She gulped and took another step back. If she hadn't lost so much time over someone else's blood, she wouldn't had been in such a situation. If she hadn't let her curiosity outsmart her brain, she wouldn't be in such danger. If she hadn't let her mind sprout nonsense she wouldn't-

"My dolly!" He beamed with a deformed smile.

And she ran. She ran faster than she had ever dared, harder than her legs had ever supported and far less graceful than she had ever allowed. She tripped over herself and almost broke down on the floor, but forced herself to keep up with her own pace. She had trouble breathing and saw two doors where there should had been one, yet refused to lose a beat as she slammed its wooden frame shut. And she screamed so loud she almost fainted when it threatened to burst open again.

There were no directions or recollections in her mind as she ventured past a different set of doors and sealed them with her back. Her eyes darted forward, downwards, above - everywhere they hopped for a miracle to surface from. But there were no miracles, nor were there answer. No, there were only sheets, giggles, paintings and neatly cleaned furnitures.

"My dolly!" His deranged voice echoed from the hallway. She felt violated by its very sound. Was he the one who caught her? The one who undressed her and locked her into a cage? She clenched her thighs in fear of the notion. It seemed a single miracle would not suffice.

The footsteps grew louder than the giggles and she knew that she had to move. Her fears would become far more than doubts if he ever found her there. There was even a bed nearby to help his forceful will. She doubted he would care much for such trivial things as her safety, though.

Fuck it. Fuck it, but not her! Not like that. Not by someone she would never look at in that way. Fuck, she had to escape. She had to run, she had to hide! But how would she escape? How far could she run if her legs already refused to move? Where would she even hide!?

Her eyes fell to the floor and widened at the white sheets. The answer was so obvious and so simple she had trouble deciding whether to scream joyful smiles or to cry rivers of blood. It was also stupid, improbable of working and it bore extreme danger of failure. But it was better than any of her other options, and that was enough to give her hope - enough to make her move.

She threw herself on the floor, making sure to avoid falling on top of the sheet, and rolled her whole frame beneath the bed. The back of her head almost hit it in her hurry to hide, and she almost kissed the dirty planks below when she finally stopped her roll, too. A lack of finesse but also a surge of hope.

There was no time to ponder, though, for the doors burst open and a perverse set of giggles flooded her ears. One of her hands snaked up her body to cover her mouth as she closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the floor.

"Dolly?" His giggles stopped. She whimpered against her own hand, tears leaking down her face. "Dolly!?" His nose sniffed like a ravenous dog and she had to bit her hand not to scream.

She could hear the desperation in his voice and feel the need that laced his words. Even if she was wrong and he did not want to satisfy his perverted needs with her, he would use her and abuse her like he did the doll. He would break her and leave her to rot in the dirt like he did the doll. He would kill her, like he couldn't the doll - of that she had no doubts.

"Dolly..." A sad last sniff caught her ears together with his dejected tone. She risked her eyes open to face the back of his legs from her spot beneath the bed. "My dolly..." His voice held the breaking of at a child's heart as its soul, yet all she allowed herself to feel was fear. That and repulse for what was and for what could be.

Air filled her lungs when she took a desperate, yet relieved breath - the man was gone. His legs had disappeared through another set of doors and they were closed shut seconds after. He was finally away. She was finally alone.

She cried alone beneath a stranger's bed she hoped never to use. She sobbed alone on the wooden floor as she slowly, carefully and proudly regained control of her own mind. She cried alone in the dark, and, for the first time in her whole life, she felt nothing but happiness from it.


	4. Hide And Seek, part I

**Arc I: The Belli Castle**  
 **Chapter IV: Hide And Seek, part I**

The carpet bent its body upwards and around the wooden table as the furniture stopped in front of the door. Fiona braced herself on the makeshift barricade for support and took a heavy, almost relieved breath. It would never keep the mammoth of a man outside, she knew, but it was enough to calm down her heart, and that was more than enough at the time.

All sense of time had fled her mind a long while before, and it had made a point of taking more than half her strength with it, to boot. The scenario wasn't alien to her, yes, but there was always something for her to hold onto, something "a little" less physical, and "a little" more hopeful.

Just how long had she stayed there, battered and abused, crying her soul out beneath that stupid bed? The sun outside the windows told her it wasn't that long of a time, but the hole inside her chest plotted with the knot in her throat to say otherwise.

"The head and the heart" She mussed. Who should she believe in, if any? A question for another time, for sure - a time when there were no wars to be waged against both of them. Favouritism would be her downfall, after all...or so had said her parents over and over again.

She moved away from the table and resisted the urge to shake her head. She wasn't about to create another cycle of hers. The urge to stare outside the windows with the feeble hope of seeing the fat man fall down the stairs, on the other hand, she failed to contain. She didn't wanted him to break his neck and die or anything like that. She didn't wanted anyone to die, especially because of her. She just wanted him out cold enough for her to break free of his clutches.

Another refusal of hers was to admit he might not be the first to die because of her. Whatever had happened, however she had been captured, her parents were still alive. They had to be. And they would find her, or she would find them and they'd escape from that cursed place.

But that was just wishful thinking, she knew. There was an accident, a car accident, and she had escaped it alive somehow. Or at least she thought it had been a car accident. It was hard to know when all she had to work with were fragments of a memory she couldn't even recall.

"Fuck, I hope I'm not amnesiac or something..." She couldn't help but murmur to herself. It was and old, yet forgotten habit of hers: to talk to herself out loud. The doctors had said it wasn't a problem, unlike many of her other habits, so she had never bothered to get rid of it. It had done so itself, though. But there were always exceptions. That was true to its unproblematic nature, too, though.

Something stirred deep inside her as her eyes took in the bashed door. All it took was a single hit and already something was missing from its frame. If that was **her** frame, there would be more than just **something** missing from it.

A nervous gulp descended her throat as her brain processed the thought and her legs moved her closer to the exit door. She had lost too much time already, both with the blood and the mammoth, and she had to make up for it somehow. It was time to start making her way out of that place, before someone else made their way to **her** place.

o - o - o - o - o

Fiona's eyes took in the hallways as she traversed through its intestines again. What was it, the third time? Fourth, maybe? Was anyone counting to begin with? She was...in a way. But who cared?

She shook her head - damn it- and quickened her steps. Even thought she had promised herself not to waste more time, she had spent an awful lot of hers deciding whether to descend the hallway's staircase or not. It wasn't like her to be so airheaded, of course, but fear, pressure and despair did wonders to shape her personality to their own twisted desires.

Her eyes glanced back over her shoulders. Light had started fading outside, but just slightly. It might had been anywhere between six and seven, maybe even eight in the afternoon, for all she knew. The old clock back in "her" room wasn't of much help, either. Not that it made any difference in the end. Other than a possible escape route presenting itself in the form of "sleepland", of course.

But what kind of captors would go to sleep and leave her to roam all across their "base"? Then again, what kind of captors weighted three thousand pounds and still managed to kidnap someone? How the fuck did that guy manage to chase after her, anyway? She had to thank whatever the hell he ate on a daily basis for her escape, that was for sure.

The pillars were there again, too. There wasn't much help from the sun to see them properly anymore, but she was not risking a glance. One panic attack was enough for the night. For the year, really. She sure as hell wouldn't mind if they never resurfaced again.

But that was wishful thinking, too. Hope was a strange thing, it seemed. It gave her a will to move forward and to do her best to ignore and hopefully overcome her fears. But it also gave her a false sense of ultimate survivalist that she sure as all hell was not. A mock, fake idea that everything would end up alright if she just went along with her shit.

A blink and a small, albeit genuine giggle escaped her throat. She would never hear the end of it if her mother knew how many curse words had escaped her the past...minutes? Hours? Whatever. It did not matter. Her face would be priceless either way.

Her father, on the other hand, would probably play along with it, just to see where it would go. Then he'd just make her do whatever stupid shore her mother had asked **him** to do. Or maybe he'd hit her with a belt or something. It had not happened since her younger years, but who could be certain about something when it came to that man?

Cold, rough cloth brushed against her bare leg and allowed her back into reality. Her curious eyes travelled down to meet a pair of dead ones. It was the rag doll in all its dirtied glory. Fuck, that thing was creepy...

Her teeth gritted, her breaths grew unstable and her leg bent backwards in preparation for a kick. It would be so easy to throw the nasty thing against a wall, peel its clothed skin off and purge it from its entrains. So easy to rip its head off and burn it or stomp it to pieces. And so, so satisfying, too!

But her bent leg was joined by its twin as it softly touched the ground. Her eyes had caught wind of something else - something sinister -, and her hatred for the rags, their maker and their owner paled in comparison to the fear that threatened her heart.

The library door was ajar. It wasn't broken nor was it bruised, and it certainly held no invitation in its embrace. But lights flickered beyond its frame, and shadows danced around their glare. It lured her to move forward and closer to the room. Whether it was out of curiosity or morbid fascination, she was not sure, nor did she care enough to decide.

A throb bit down on her heart midway, though, and she touched her back flat against the wall just beside the frame. Fear and lure waged their wars inside her mind as it ventured to thoughts she dared not have before. Thoughts that did nothing to appease her soul.

There was no way the man could have bested her in speed, right? No way he could be there before her, right? But the door was locked before, wasn't it? Nobody had broken into it, as far as she could tell. But what about the key? Did the man even have a key? She hadn't seen any keys on him. He had pockets, though, didn't he? Then-

The maid! It had to be the maid! She was there not long ago, in "her" room. She sneaked up on her with no problem before, unlike the fatso. And she sure as hell would have the keys! That would be the only way for her to clean every room! And, best of all, she wasn't a threat!

But what if it was someone else? There could be more maids. Or it could be her captors. It was harder to believe the buffoon would be able to pull it off each time she thought about it. And it made things worse. Whoever controlled the man, whoever had power over him, was far more dangerous than he was himself.

Or they could all be just a bunch of weirdos with no organization whatsoever. Unlikely, but quite possible. She had been roaming the place under the knowledge of the maid for quite a while, after all. That was not very bright-minded of any of them, lest of all herself!

Her eyes took in the hallways for too many a time. Running away could prove to be the simpler of her choices. She would only have one direction to move through, of course, but it was already a direction she could run through.

She let out a nervous, low laugh. No way she could pull that off. Her legs still hurt and her heart throbbed far too much for her to even try. No escape route would be good enough if she had a heart attack midway through it.

No. She would be brave for a change. She would face her problems head on and solve them for once in her life. It was the maid, after all. It **had** to be her. There were no more explanations of who it could be. There **weren't**! So what if the maid seemed off, short-sighted or demented at worst? She had not threatened her and had given her clothes. That was more than anyone around had done, to begin with! So what if she was with the captors? Stockholm Syndrome or not, **the maid was all she had**!

A tug at her clothes, a gulp of dry air, another calming breath, and her frame crept through the doorway. On her haste, she forgot to be subtle, and her face winced at the loud wooden crack the door made when she pushed it forward. Too much for subtlety, it would seem.

o - o - o - o - o

Antique books gave the place a classical look Fiona would never admit to be quite fond of. They were arranged in various ways, some of which she couldn't really comprehend, but all had their covers faced to a single, lone desk. It wasn't an imposing one or anything. It was just a small, dark wooden desk.

Other than that, the room was empty, and so became her heart. There were no sights of the maid or the fat man or of life itself. It crushed her hope - of what she didn't knew - and burned hotly at her pride. Another effort gone to waste; another bravery thrown off in her face.

She steeled herself and approached the bookcases. Almost all the books were written in words she couldn't understand, with characters she had never seen before. And the few that weren't were full of symbols and words with apparently no meaning whatsoever, like the word "Azoth", which repeated itself in their collective covers. Some of them even looked like alchemist bullshit, for crying out loud!

A timid shine caught her eyes from the other side of the room. It came from another lonely furniture, this one a small table big enough for nothing but a book or two. Maybe three, if piled close together.

There were objects on its surface, and the urge to check them out was too great for her to ignore. Desperation held its share of the blame for that, she knew, but hope was there again. Fucking thing seemed to be everywhere. Hopefully it wouldn't become a problem. And there it was **again!**

The first thing she noticed as her legs stopped short of the table weren't the objects, though. No. It was the impossibly neat state the furniture found itself in when compared to the rest of the room. Hell, she could see dust in some of those old books, but there was nothing but a clean wooden surface before her eyes. And the thing looked really hard to clean, too! Whoever cleaned it truly cared for its neatness, or for whatever purpose those objects had.

Speaking of said objects...

Her eyes snaked from one of them to another, and from another back to one. They were three, and held no common link whatsoever. Well, except for the handwritten notes firmly attached to each one of them.

The first object was an apple. A rotten apple that would certainly have all kinds of bugs nested in its core. The note was nailed to its corpse by a large needle, so maybe the bugs were already gone to begin with. Whatever the case, it produced no smell at all, and she had to resist the urge to sniff it up close. She was not about to risk anything weird getting close to her nose.

The second was a transparent flask that held a pitch black liquid she knew nothing about. It could be filled with petrol or it could be filled with faeces for all she knew. Or it was just coloured water. That one had a note pierced through its neck.

And the last object was quite...unique. Even more so than the previous ones. It was a simple stone tablet, or what she thought to be stone, anyway. It had the word "Emeth" carved on one of its faces, and a note neatly placed on top of it. It was a good name to be found in a classic place like a library. Totally out of context, but still a good name.

She allowed her eyes to take in the notes then, but her fingers to take in the last one only. It was the safer choice, or at least it seemed to be. She sure as hell didn't wanted to be bit by a worm - did worms even bite? - or to be burned by a liquid she couldn't recognize. Maybe she shouldn't touch a tablet made of a material she couldn't recognize, too, but the note was hard to read, anyway.

She scanned through the words and a scoff made its way off her throat. "Eat me" was the first; "Drink me" was the second; "Pick me up" was the third. Where the fuck was she, again? Wonderland? Ha! Maybe **American** 's version of it.

Her attention fixed itself on the "stone" tablet. Something felt a bit too nice about its touch. Maybe it was the soothing way it invited her skin, or maybe it was the cool way it felt against her hands. It didn't mattered in the end. Whatever the case, she went along with the note and picked it up. It was just to examine the carvings, really.

She lifted the object closer to her eyes and surprised herself at how light and heavy it felt. It shouldn't be possible for something to feel heavy and light at the same time, and it was all related to her weakened state, she knew, but it was just so...alien for her to let go.

No. Alien wasn't the right word to describe it. "Fascinating" would be a nicer way of putting it. But that was something her old art teacher said about everything that caught his attention, so maybe she was influenced by it. Who knew?

Eyes bored on the back of her head and she spun around startled, then again and again, but no one revealed himself to her, or _hopefully_ herself, or whoeverself, really. She made sure to check for holes on the walls and on the books themselves, but came up empty handed just the same.

It was paranoia. Just that. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a way of her brain to screw her up some more. There was nothing to worry about. It wasn't like there were people watching her from the intestines of the walls. That was just not possible...

She left the room at once. Some things were better left unknown.

o - o - o - o - o

She was in a new room again. That was a cycle she would never break free of. Not that she'd want to, of course. There were far too many rooms and doors on that cursed place, and any of them could hold the key to her escape, or of her survival at the very least.

It wasn't the first one she had been to since the library, though. There was a hollow one with nothing but a typewriter of sorts and a fallen chandelier and another set of sealed doors, too. Both completely useless if not for her art appreciative mind. They all had their unique style, after all.

The room she was in had been barricaded by a small table in a familiar fashion of her own barricade back in the bedroom. She had gracefully put it aside, with caution not to make a sound twin to the previous furniture she pushed around. That piece of furniture made her wonder if someone else was in her current situation, though.

Fiona had thought the library a strange place. What with all the weird books and Wonderland references. But the room she was in was like the library had been fused by an umbilical cord with a demented scientist's lab. It sure as hell looked like an "evil lair", at the very least. But, then again, the whole place looked like an "evil lair" to begin with.

Her eyes took in the various sets of flasks, cauldrons and books with morbid distaste. She was usually a fan of literature and exotic sights, but there was something just **wrong** with the things before her. Something almost...dead. Or maybe it was just her aversion to alchemy in general that made her think like that.

Oh, and there was a god glaring at her. Well, not exactly. It was a quite big golden statue of a golem. It was bigger than the fat man and looked to be at least twice as heavy. She didn't knew if it was made of gold or painted to look like it, but she was inclined to believe the first, for some reason.

His big mouth was cut wide open, as if to eat something, _or someone_ in the gruesome way. It was almost like a copy from the glutton, except she didn't need to fear it chasing after her with perverse intentions...at least not yet, anyway.

She permitted her fingers to trace themselves along the statue. They twirled and twisted around its skeleton and absorbed everything with glee. It was cold, but not really that much. It would be a perfect piece of art if the whole situation wasn't as creepy as it was.

Her eyes took in its hollowed mouth and the weirdest idea of sticking her hand inside of it crossed through her mind. There could be something around for her to mess with, like a switch or a key or something.

The idea left her mind as soon as it entered, though. In art, as in life itself, sticking your hand inside weird holes was never a good choice. From a nest of angry spiders to the tip of a blade, the dangers were far too many to risk it. Heck, that thing could close and crush her hand! It could hold a few insects, or nothing at all, of course, but she wouldn't be the one to test it out first-hand.

Another weird thought carved itself into her brain and she looked back down to the tablet in her hand. She hadn't disposed of the thing since she left the library, for whatever reason. Maybe it could prove itself to be of use. And, if nothing happened at all, she would at least be free from the damn thing in a safe way. She couldn't simply leave it on the floor and expect none to notice it, after all, and no way in hell she would go back to the library just to leave it there.

Shrugging her shoulders to dimmish her own tension, Fiona approached the object to the golem's mouth, surprised by how well the square thing fit into its coffins. It was like a nail would fit into a more literal coffin, really. More like the corpse inside of it, actually...

Her hand shot back out fast. **Fuck** , she had almost dropped the thing inside! Fucking light-headed mood getting in the way of her intelligent thoughts! **Fuck**! She probably, maybe, quite possibly, **almost killed herself!** It wouldn't have happened on a normal day, that was for sure.

Ha! And her parents told her art school would never save her life if it depended on it. It was nice to be proven right for once, twisted methods aside. It was even nicer to be alive and breathing, though.

Golems were part of the Judaic Mythology. She had drawn a couple of them as assignments before. It was for a study about the impact of religion on art and history alike. And it was that knowledge that might had just kept her life from being another painting of a straight line on a wall.

She remembered quite well drawing the paper tag on the forehead of one of her golems. It was worn almost like a tiara, and it was everything keeping the thing up. And she remembered quite well which word she had written in the paper's face, too.

She needed something sharp or filled with thorns or both, and she needed it fast, lest she'd realize how ridiculous the whole idea was and would give it all up. Those things were but myths and wherever she was, in whoever's care she was and in whichever kind of danger she was, such things would always be just that: **myths**.

But her eyes refused to believe her mind, and chose to take in the whole room instead. From flask to flask and book to book, they found nothing at all that they could use. Not even a single ink pen.

Her nails carved themselves along the tablet's own set of carvings together with a frustrated snarl, and her eyes widened beyond measure when they actually damaged the damn thing. What the fuck was it made of!? Lithium!?

Fuck it. It did not matter. It did not matter at all. The "E" was tarnished, and the saying was finally complete. "Emeth" had become "Meth", and now the myth could follow its course without taking her life on its teeth.

She took a breath to calm her racing heart. Two to keep herself from falling apart. Three, just to make sure she wouldn't faint or run back. She took a fourth one to steel herself at last, and she used her fifth to regain the composure she longed for deep inside her heart.

And then the tablet fell into the trap, and she reached the point of no return.


	5. Panic Prone Interlooper

**AN: You'll notice that the kitchen scene is different from the original one, as are many other scenes throughout this work. This is made on purpose as to enhance a reading experience and better bend the storyline we are trying to tell here.**

 **We hope all you guys understand it and that none of you feel disappointed with our changes!**

* * *

 **Arc I: The Belli Castle**  
 **Chapter V: Panic Prone Interloper**

Fiona had entered the tiny area, the kitchen, a couple minutes earlier, soon after traversing through a weird corridor of sorts. She had reached it as soon as the golem broke into pieces too small for her to count. Whether it was her knowledge of the myths that prompted it or the simple deposit of the tablet in its mouth, she didn't knew.

In retrospect, she should've known the maid would end up being in the kitchen. The day had started to slip away and she would probably have to prepare dinner soon, after all. But, then again, she had no idea what would lie beyond the statue to begin with, lest of all that it would lead her to a kitchen of all places.

The woman currently had her back to her, too busy with whatever it was she decided to boil. Soup mayhaps? The thought made her stomach protest against its hollow state. Fuck. She really should've ate something before leaving with her parents.

Her feet took her forward towards the maid before her mind had time to decide whether to call out to her or to remain silent forever more. It wasn't her fault it drowned itself in memories of her parents and "what ifs" regarding their whereabouts. Well, maybe it was. But still!

For once, Fiona just let her mind have its way and did her best to enjoy the trip. She knew to be safe there with the maid, for whatever reason, and allowed herself the small mental break. The woman seemed far too busy with the thing to care about her presence, anyway.

Something glimmered against the wooden spoon and she took a step back with a gasp. Human hair. It was human hair! And it was blonde! It was blonde just like her mot-

 **No!**

She shook her head and took another step back. She would **not** allow her fear to cloud her judgement and prejudice her thoughts. The whole ordeal had put too big a strain on her physique, and she needed to stop herself from taking things at face value, lest she'd end up with a replay of the blood incident.

Her legs trembled a little as her eyes blinked and her head shook a even more. The hair was gone. There was nothing at all on the spoon. It was but her fear playing tricks on her. She should've known!

She allowed herself to feel prideful, if only for a short while. The thought almost put a smile on her face, and it would have if not for the whole captured by a group of weirdos thing.

The doctor would throw a big fit if he knew about her small period. First of joy that she was doing things right for once, then in scandalized horror when she'd eventually tell him exactly what had triggered it. Maybe she'd leave the part of the crazy weirdos, though, just to be safe.

It didn't took her much to approach the maid behind the counter. The woman didn't seem to register her presence, and so she gave into another of her dirty pleasures: **curiosity**. Not like the one from before, though. A far more dangerous and quite more intimate kind of curiosity. One her parents should never hear about. Ever.

The uniform was there, just as it was when they had parted their ways. And her skin seemed as flawless as ever. Her hairs were untied, unlike what her mother told her a woman's hair should be when cooking a meal. But it looked fine and fitted her perfectly enough. Plus, she doubted the woman would let any hairs drop in the soup...as ironic as that sounded in her mind.

She resisted two more temptations when she noticed the glazed look on the woman's eyes. It looked almost as dead as the rag doll's own orbs, and that was saying something. Something was seriously wrong with the woman, and chances were things would end up blowing up in her face if she ventured further...but maybe she could try and...lend an ear or something?

Her lips parted and she tried to invite the woman into a chat, but she didn't even register her words. If anything, her eyes paled some more, if that was even possible, that was. Were she under a spell or something? Sure as fuck wouldn't surprise her.

A shy sigh left her throat. The curse words again. Her time away from her parents had taken its tow on her, it seemed. It beat being chased by a fat mammoth of a man while she tried desperately to preserve her chastity and to leave a cursed castle, though.

She tried to talk to the maid once more, just to make sure, but was greeted with the same response...or lack thereof. It seemed like she was inside a deep trance-like state or something of equal depth. Would be more possible than a spell, yet just as effective.

She let out another sigh and walked away from the counter. She would try it some more at a later date. If she ever saw the woman again, of course. No way she would antagonize the only one to lend her a hand in that place.

Whatever her feelings were, those worries would have to be put aside for the time. That was what she talked herself into believing, anyway. For better or for worse, she had a place to explore, a couple of parents to find and an escape route to plan.

o - o - o - o - o

Orange started to melt into black as she watched the clouds above. She had finally reached the outside, yet all her excitement burned down to ashes as her eyes took in the massive walls surrounding the patio. It made the whole place look more of a prison than ever before.

She had not expected the kitchen to lead her outside or on her way out the place, that was for sure, but something kept telling her otherwise - that the exit was just within her grasp - and she kept believing it, for whatever reason. It was not born out of positiveness, though. It was just...hope. And that was a dangerous thing.

Her eyes descended from the sky to rest on the stone pavement before her. It was a pathway to a set of equally massive gates she doubted would be opened at all, yet couldn't contain the flames inside her chest. Could it be that she was right in assuming a close exit?

Said flames spread through her legs and took her slowly, but roughly to the gates. Why would anyone want such a giant thing in their courtyard was lost to her, present situation aside. They probably just wanted safety. The usual "keep thou out" thing...or rather, "keep thou in". It wasn't like those people had prepared their whole life just to capture her...

She sighed and rested her palms against the cool surface. The gates were made of metal, and it was the perfect opposite of the tablet. It was hard, sharp and did not invite her touch at all. For a second she thought it burned her hands, but it was merely heated by the last rays of the sun.

The lock screamed its metallic pleas as her hands fiddled with its corpse. It did not bulge, nor did it repel her. It just glared at her, and she swore eyes would sprout out of its middle at any second.

A sudden urge to kick and punch overcame her mind. Damn thing mocked her with its presence alone. It taunted her and made her feel weak on the inside in ways she hadn't felt in a long while. Ways worse than a mere eating disorder and far less welcome than what she felt when gazing at the maid...not that she had felt anything inappropriate when doing so, of course.

She let out another sigh and couldn't help but swear out loud. That sighing thing was getting repetitively irritating, just like those other "cycles" of hers. And the worse cycle of all was, as she had realized a few times before, the cycle of hope.

Life had taught her things wouldn't be alright just because someone said so or because someone wanted them to. But that thing kept poking its ugly head into her rational mind and messing with its carcass. It was the most dangerous of all her cycles, for it did not strike her as annoying or unreal, no matter how much she wished for it to do just that. It was a danger disguised as a blessing - the worst kind.

She knew all that already. She knew it wouldn't end well or easily, but she was willing to surrender herself to that danger, to that hope, if it meant she would escape - if that meant for her to survive. She was willing to play along with her own fantasies to make things right.

If she had been taken an year earlier, a month even, she would've been far worse. She would have never left the cage. She would have never met the maid. She would have never ran away from the man. She would just lie there and let whatever happen happen with a blank stare much like the maid's own. She would just surrender herself to her fate.

Her fingers traced the keyhole and a small smile spread through her face at he thoughts, both previous and new ones. She had grown from her past self and she would never go back to it. She had already survived an encounter with death before, and she could do it again. Of course her actual scenario was all twisted and deformed, but it wasn't something **that** new to her. Well, maybe the captor thing was...

Everything had been so blurry when she first woke up in that cell. No signs of her parents, no idea of what had happened or where she was, no idea of what dangers lurked about; no idea of what to do...But the weight of the world left her shoulders as her legs took her back and away from the gate, and by her own doing, no less!

She had briefly thought about climbing the damn thing and being done with it, but it wasn't at all possible. Her parents weren't by her side, the gate was far too big for its own good, and she was way too weak to pull shit like that out her ass, to begin with.

No. She had a plan. A brief, crippled and tarnished idea of a plan, really, but it was better than nothing. All she would have to do was to find the key to open the gate, and she would be free. **They** would all be free!

"Easier said than done" she couldn't help but to murmur out loud, walking down a narrow, red-lighted corridor. She was used to the occasional war of thoughts by then, but it always took her by surprise. If her life were to be made into a book, and she into a character, she would drop the book at the first couple of pages. Too much drama for her own good.

"Fiona..." She froze. That **was not** her mind. It did sound somewhat familiar to her ears, but it was not hers. It was far too male to be hers. No. That whisper came from somewhere else - from someone else -, and it sent a blizzard up her spine and a knot into her throat.

She gulped, eyes twirling around together with her frame. There was nothing but walls all around her. Yes, some of them were marked by holes and others were not, but, in the end they were all walls. But why such big holes?

"Fiona..." Fuck. Someone was definitively there. Maybe she should call out to them? They had to know her for them to know her name, right? But, the only ones who would know her name were her parents, or...

She gulped down again. Climbing the gates suddenly felt like a perfect idea to her. There would be no need for her to climb down from there, even. She would just have to throw herself down. A doctor would fix anything broken and she would return with the police to save her parents from those lunatics...

Then why didn't her feet obey her commands? Why the fuck did the fuckers took her closer to the most destroyed wall? Why the hell did her eyes fixed themselves on a shinning object inside of one of them? And why, oh why did her heart throbbed and her hands reached for it?

She stuck her right hand inside the hole and closed her eyes with a wince. It went against everything she had reasoned in the golem incident. It went against all basic logic of sticking hands in dark places where weird voices were probably coming from.

It shouldn't had surprised her when things turned from bad to worse, but it did so anyway. Who wouldn't gasp and tug their hand back when someone they couldn't see gripped their wrist with enough force for them to crack in their ears? Sure not everyone of them would fall on their asses with a scream, but "she was not everyone", was she?

Five fingers left their ugly, painful imprints on her skin. **Fuck!** She massaged her wrist as a scarlet bruise started to crawl along its frame. It was not broken, thankfully, but it hurt way more than her legs, which was saying something. Probably her own fault, though, for being so frail and shit.

"Fiona!" The whisper mocked her name again, the sound of twisting metal piercing her ears. It was a sound she was way too familiar with, and hoped never to hear again - it was the sound of a wheelchair.

Something stung the inside of her palm and her eyes travelled up the redness that dripped down its sides. A small note had been pierced through her palm by a needle, just like the ones on the library table. Blood spilled from the spot, but it did not hurt her terribly.

She grit her teeth and tore note and needle off her hand. It burned her flesh like hell, but she would survive the pain. She was not **that** frail. Unless it was poisoned, of course, but that would not make much sense...or so she hoped, anyway.

Her eyes took in the note as her hand closed in on its own wound. She picked the thing up with distaste, and, with narrowed, uncertain eyes, she scrolled through the words. Any idea that it was the doing of the same person responsible for the "Wonderland" notes left her mind at the poorly written characters, though.

A breath went in, slowly, alluringly, and she finally began to read its contents. It was time to get done with it.

o - o - o - o - o

Whoever that person was, the man who pierced her hand with a needle, he was not her ally - he was not her friend. But his note begged for her to think otherwise. It begged her to give him a chance, despise his less than ideal presentation. It begged her to hope.

She did not. Every time she had hoped for something, it had gone the opposite way or she had suffered dire consequences from it, exactly like the wall incident. Sometimes she ended up with both, even.

Ha! And she thought the damn thing would not hurt so much. The fucking shit felt like it was coated in acid! Fuck it, her hand still bled because of it. No it wasn't much, but it seemed that way in her mind, and even worse in her heart. One would think she would be used to pain by then...

Different thoughts assaulted her mind at once as her feet took her back towards the kitchen. Too many thoughts to process. She would end up with an ugly headache later, for sure. Hopefully not a migraine. Not that she had suffered from one of them in a long, long time. But, then again, she hadn't been put in such a situation in a long, long time, too. **Never** , actually.

She had tried the other doors on the patio, even the music tower's one, but they were all locked tightly. There were no signs of normal keys around the place, even less so of giant keys exclusive to giant gates. Hell, there were no signs of anything but walls, grass and dirt!

The note had told her of a way out - a different way out. It made no sense for anyone to aid her like that, and even less sense for said person to hurt her in the process. Friends were not supposed to hurt other friends, after all. Or so had Daniel, the nurse, told her, anyway.

Friends...the word was alien to her. She did had acquaintances and comrades, but friends were a different matter. None of them would risk their necks for her if she had a fucking cellphone, of that she was sure. They'd probably hang up on her or laugh it off as a prank. If they even picked up the phone, to begin with. Not like she had any of their numbers to figure it out in the first place, really. Maybe she should ask for them at a later date, just in case...

A sigh escaped her lips as she passed through the kitchen's door. There were, thankfully, no signs of the fat man, either, and she hoped things would be like that forever more. She sure as hell would fail to complain.

Fuck. She had hoped again. Damn it.

She looked up from the floor with an internal hiss and surprised herself by the emptiness of the room. She thought the maid would still be somewhere around and that she would be able to ask her about the note. It wasn't hard to read or anything...well, not **that** hard to read, anyway, but maybe she knew who had written it.

Her eyes took in the forgotten stewpot on the other side of the counter. The memories of blank eyes, beautiful skin and doll-like hair still plagued her mind. Maybe she should've tried harder to talk to her. Or maybe she should've waited for her to finish the meal...

It took her a couple of steps to stand behind the pot, the memory of human hair tangled on a wooden spoon still plaguing her mind. Well, it had looked like human hair from the distance, at least. Not like her eyes were the best to see anything at distance, though.

With a gulp, Fiona took hold of the spoon and pulled it off the soup. Her hand almost touched the pot, no doubt to leave another ugly bruise on her skin, but she was saved by her own fright, for once.

It did not **look** like human hair. It **was** human hair! It was **blond** , human hair! Hair almost as blond as her mo-

She took a step back with a gasp, dropping the spoon back into the food. **Fuck**. Maybe she should not seek the maid out anymore. Forget absent minded, for all her incredible beauty, she was a fucking crazy psycho, just like the other ones!

Fuck! It was just like she had feared. Her hope had brought her even more grief. Again! Hope and pain were things always present in her life, yet she never, ever, managed to grow used to them - to understand them. Maybe if she did so, maybe if she **tried** to, she wouldn't be in such a dire place.

Her hands found the counter and she used it for support. It was indeed blond, human hair, but it was not her mother's, and that was a relief. She had feared so at first, but it looked so different to be hers. Maybe someone else had been preparing the meal before and let it fall into the pot. It would explain why the maid was looking at it so intently before - to take it off.

Regardless of whoever dropped or **put** it there, she had brushed her mother's hair many times in the past, and the woman would never treat it so badly for it to look like a dirty piece of fern. She didn't knew what effect boiling water would have on a human hair, but her mother would die before letting her hair look like a...a...dirty rag doll...

 **Shit!**

She ducked behind the counter with a racing heart. The rag doll was on a table by the window! No way the maid had picked it up from up that big set of stairs and taken it to the kitchen, of all places. There were plenty of places she could've left it upstairs. Not to mention giving it to the fatso!

All her doubts left her to be replaced by fright as heavy footsteps sounded from the other side of the counter, and a big knife impaled itself on its wooden surface. She could swear the wood had cried its anguish at the intrusion, but couldn't help but be relieved that it was not her head instead.

Her eyes shed small tears and her breath caught itself in the depths of her throat. Her heart beat loudly in her chest as her blood pumped like crazy through her ears and whistled hungrily inside her mind, her hands pressed against her own mouth, lest she'd let out a frightened cry.

The colours flickered in and out of her vision, and she forced her eyes shut. If it began there, if it happen there, she would be discovered, she would get caught, she would be raped and killed and tortured and-

She took a calming breath, and made damn sure not to make a sound. It would all end badly if she kept thinking like that. All she'd have to do was wait for the man to leave her alone, and then everything would be alright - **everything would be fine**.

The clock ticked loudly from somewhere on the walls. It sounded once, twice, and then she lost count of how much it screamed. All she knew was that it felt like forever since she had closed her eyes and lost herself to her own mind. And it took her even longer to realize the clock was the only sound she could hear. No more whistles **or** beating hearts **or** heavy footsteps on the hall **or** maniac giggles from behind. No. All there was left was silence, and she embraced it with glee!

She allowed herself to breath loudly as she pushed herself on all fours. She was left alone in the kitchen, and her legs trembled too much for her to trust them her balance, anyway. No one would see her...less than dignified state. Fuck her shame. She had to escape! She had to leave before any of them entered the kitchen again, she ha-

Her soul froze from the inside out as she allowed her eyes back open. There was a quite fat, quite startled, and quite male face but inches from her own. There was a pair of round, scared eyes staring into hers. There was a big mouth twisting itself into an "o". There was a mammoth of a man on all fours, inches from her face!

Four eyes blinked, a pair of throats gulped, and a twin set of mouths creamed.


	6. Hide And Seek, part II

**Arc I: The Belli Castle**  
 **Chapter VI: Hide And Seek, part II**

Artificial flames consumed her from beneath the soles of her feet with each of her steps. They spread across her frame and devoured flesh, bone and skin with the hunger of a haunted beast. They **burned** her feet, they **burned** her legs, they **burned** her throat, her heart - her soul!

It took her the world to go on. Its weight crashed onto her shoulders and broke her back under its maniacal glare. It carved deep into her core and violated its rage into her eyes and across her mind, leaving a greyscale of death and burnt flesh in its wake.

An all too familiar whine-like ringing echoed inside her head. It had never howled so loudly - not on the hallways, not at the hospital and not even on the wheelchair. Its vibrations raged so much that they bruised her ears and raped her thoughts time and time again.

The memories of how long she had suffered from running and burning had escaped her long before the pain. A minute? Two? An hour or a day? It was hard enough to tell left from right when hysteria dominated her whole. Telling seconds from years was almost as impossible as it was for her to breathe!

Whether by miracle or by luck, her eyes took notice of the staircase amidst the world of whites and greys. It extended and twisted forever more, aiming at a second store she preferred never to revisit, yet could do nothing but to hope for its chilling embrace.

A step up the stairs, then a second and a third, not a single quiver to her speed. Her body protested the continuous strain with vengeance, almost forcing her backwards into the hallway. It was a wonder how she managed to regain her composure in time to avoid breaking her neck! What a great case of Karma it would've been for her to do just that...

Gnaws and grunts echoed from the halls and she twisted her head back in fright. They had sounded far too close for her taste, and way too dangerous for her health. She just had to know how far behind the mammoth was. She had to know how much she had managed to-

She gasped as her feet slipped on the slicked stone, throwing her down onto the cold, hard steps. Her heart throbbed so loud death showed its scythe at the corners of her darkening eyes, and the fast, yet meaningful, glimpse of the fat man made sure to make it all the worse.

The protrusions from the floor slammed hard against her chest, defiling a violent cough out her mouth and white explosions broke off into view as her head suffered of the same faith. One of her feet turned into an angle it should've not, and a painful scream made its way out of her throat.

Death seemed like a welcome change of pace for a second or two as her bleeding hands touched the stairs and forced her frame onto its own back. She could feel the warm liquid spill from her forehead and onto her nose, and it took her all she had not to blackout were she stood.

And she had reached the middle of the staircase, too! So close from freedom, yet so, so far away from its grace. A cruel irony of fate, it was. Hope was a dangerous thing, she had repeated that over and over before, but ungrateful disregard was even worse.

The eyes she did not remembered to have closed opened wide when a violent shock traversed through her core. She had but touched her ankle to the steps, for fuck's sake! There were no more doubts in her mind that it was broken as broken could be.

She tried to move her ankle throughout the pain, anyway. Hell, she tried to move her legs, her feet, her hands - whatever part of her she could use to crawl the fuck **away**!

But not a single one answered to her pleas. Her limbs were frozen in place by pain and fear alike. They screamed in unison and drove her pain above the clouds. Her limbs were all dead, and, be it out of malice or of pure envy, they hungered for her life to be their twin.

No time was left for her to grief, though, for the man already loomed above her way before she could crawl off from his claws. His eyes swam all over her as his hands prepared to grab her by the waist, and fuck only knew what the hell he would do after that.

Her eyes nailed themselves one more time and she turned her head to the side. An intake of air set her ribs ablaze and her lungs on fire, and the fear of letting it go consumed her mind. It was the end of her. She was his, and would be his forever more, until he found a new toy to destroy - a new doll to violate, cripple and brake.

She felt his breath against her chest, far too close for comfort, and disgusted daggers pierced through her core. She was right, after all. He really wanted her for his sick pleasure. He really wanted to make her into his... **plaything**.

A weird grunt-like sound escaped his mouth as his palm rested on her lower stomach. It was not a giggle nor was it a snarl. It was almost like he wanted to say something - to **tell** her something - but could not bring himself to. No doubt he wanted to gloat at his catch!

She surrendered herself. Not to the man or to his touch, but to the darkness. He would have his way with her, whatever it ended up to be, but she would not be there to see it - she would not be there to feel it. And she would be forever grateful for that small, considerate miracle.

His hand moved a fraction lower, and her hips buckled in pain. Her eyes opened and her vision restored itself. She would not pass away. Not yet. Had he done so on purpose? Crazy psycho. He must have! He had not pressed hard on her or anything, but he knew she was hurt - he had hurt her **there**...indirectly or not.

Tears escaped her eyes. She should've known not to hope, even for the slightest of miracles. Yet she did so. Really, she bought it all on herself. All she had to do was to stick with the maid, but no, lets go around a mansion with a crazy fat lunatic and get rapped in the process, because why not!?

She wanted to go away. She wanted to disappear and to be swallowed by the darkness from before. She wanted to die. Fuck, she wanted to die so bad! Fuck it all to hell, all she wanted was to go back **home**.

She let out a sob and waited for the inevitable moment his hand would slip beneath her skirt and ravage her folds. But the moment never came. His hand did move around and about to rest on her belly button, but that was all it did before it left her skin and his breath moved away from her face.

A gulp and and the air left the prison of her lungs, only for a new intake of air to grab its place. She opened her eyes then, and found herself staring at his big, round pair. He had moved back a couple of steps, yet his eyes fixed on hers with a sort of easiness she could not comprehend. And there was something in the depths of his stare, too - something she dared not name.

Looking at him like that, startled and bruised - had she done it to his face, or was the blood there already? -, he almost looked like a child. An overgrown, fat, psychotic child, though.

But that was just her third wishful thought of the day...or was it the fourth?

She had no recollections of using her nails on his face, but she probably had done so back at the kitchen, when he was just too close and too sudden for her mind to digest. She was so frightened she had no idea what she had done, or what she would, or **could** , do next.

He took a step forward and she couldn't help but flinch at his outstretched hand. Whatever had happened between them was over, and he would do as he pleased. He would-

"Exire, Debilitas!"

That **voice**! Her eyes widened to saucers and a smile threatened to carve itself into her lips. It was her her father's voice! He had arrived just in time to save her from harm! He would drive the man away and take her from his-

Her heart clenched down hard. Her vision blackened and her neck bent itself around. She was throat-deep in karma again, but she wanted to make sure. She wanted to see his face and to plead his name out loud, even if it was the last thing she would ever do.

She should've not. All she saw was the frame of a stranger. Her ears were merely playing tricks on her. Nothing more, nothing less. She was being teased by her own desires - by her own heart and by her own soul. And, it the end, it was so very **fitting** of her.

Her vision darkened as the man's cloaked figure approached in between the dying rays of sun. Her father, dead or alive, would have never worn such clothes. It was easier for her mother to cut her hair bald and grow a dick than for him to do so, really. He was a **Belli** , after all, and a Belli would nev-

o - o - o - o - o

Her eyes opened to a darkened ceiling, a foreign softness caressing her from beneath her back. The candlelights flickered somewhere to the side while the cold grip of the night swallowed the chambers, but she could not focus on either.

She soon had to will them back shut and to steal time for her racing heart. It pounded loudly inside her ears and drowned her memories in a veil of darkness fouler than the one beyond her sealed stare.

The weakness that shook through her frame and forced her to the ground, the numbness that had made hostage of her core, the constant ringing in her ears and the colourless filter that dominated her vision...they were all gone.

That was not normal. Not at all. Those things were not mere coincidences or direct consequences of a strained mind. They were her own personal darkness, her dirty secret she was fated to hide for the rest of her life. They were not occasional nor anything like that. No. They were born out of her diseases. And there was no cure for them, mayhaps not even death.

She brust off the bed and twisted her body around holding a pair of wide, fearful eyes. Something had scratched at the nape of her neck. Something that was thin, small and comfortable, yet abusive all the same.

Her eyes caught sight of the clean white pillow and life whispered back into her lungs. A breath of relief prepared to escape the innermost of her throat, yet died down but halfway through its course, producing a raspy gasp instead.

The damnable bed stared at her with its eyeless carcass and sent more than a cold shiver up her spine. She knew that bed! She knew its sheets and she knew its beneath, too! She had sworn never to lay down on its embrace not long before, actually.

 **Fuck**.

The curse word held an entirely new meaning as she stared down at her messed up skirt. It was trashed around from sleep and displayed a couple recent sewn lines on its side, and all traces of dirt were gone from it, too.

A morbid fear shook her to the core and she had to force herself to sit on the bed, lest her head would share a kiss with the floor instead of her hands. Her limbs refused to move as memories raced past her subconscious mind, completely merciless to the strain they caused her heart and the flames they purged into her soul.

Someone had taken her skirt off. Someone had undressed her and saw her privates up close. Someone had taken advantage of her. Someone had taken **her** , used **her** , abused **her**!Someone had taken everything they wanted from her, and she was helpless to resist! And that someone, that cruel, **disgusting** someone, was **him**.

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to die. She wanted to cry. She wanted for anything but for those memories to crash back - to relive such torment her mind had refused to record at first. Yet, as she sat there, battered, violated and abused...they never did. Different memories surged in their stead, and finally her relief allowed itself off her clenched throat.

It hadn't been like **that**. It hadn't happened like she feared. No one had touched her there as far as her feelings and memories could reach. And, by the dead sun outside the window, she knew that her privates were kept intact. There would've been no time, and that wasn't a wishful thought, for once! The old clock made sure of that!

But she had to make sure. No way she'd allow herself to walk around if there was _something_ threatening to leak out, or something painful and distasteful inside...or the physical memories of them, at least.

She allowed her back to press down on the mattress. It despised her to go against her previous wishes of using the bed, again, but she swallowed down her pride and told herself it was for the best. She wasn't using it for anything like _that_. Well...not really.

Shame coloured her cheeks as she spread her legs apart and trailed her left hand underneath the hem of her skirt. No panties blocked her fingers as they travelled down her trimmed pubes and into her folds. Oh, the "joys" of going commando! Maybe she should search the place for underwear later. Wouldn't hurt her to do so, that was for sure...

Stealing herself with a breath and focusing on the task at hand...quite literally, so...she inserted a finger into herself, then another, just to make sure. Her shame spread to her chest and tiny droplets formed in her eyes both at the feelings her exploration produced and at the idea of someone watching her do so. For a second she swore that there was indeed someone there, staring from a door left ajar. But, when her fingers stilled and her eyes traced the wood, it was closed shut and there was no one left in sight.

She moved her fingers then, embarrassed by the thoughts that raced through her head. Thoughts of beauty unmatched, of purple hairs and delicious, perfect skins. But, so big was her apprehension for her possible findings that no pleasure arose from her touch and it was hard for her to pinpoint if it was a blessing or a curse at the time.

A smile spread her lips apart as her fingers left her lower ones to rest on her bare thighs. There was nothing in there and nothing hurt or seemed out of place. She was no gynaecologist, but she was fairly confident that, if anyone had done something to her, she would know. Who'd think being a virgin would come in hand some time? Honestly, if it had happened, the pain would've been even worse than her-

Her eyes widened in disbelief. How could she had forgotten!? Her fucking ankle was broken at the staircase! Why the hell didn't it hurt? Why the hell was it that **nothing** hurt!? What the fuck was going on!?

She took notice of herself for the first time since she woke up at night. She had realized her disease had somehow been tamed when it should've been almost impossible, yes, but she had never considered her far more...down to earth feelings. Or lack of feelings, thereof.

Her ankle was healed. Hell, it felt stronger than ever! Her fucking broken bones were healed like they were never hurt before. **Ever**. For a brief moment she thought she had been out cold for way more than a couple hours - that she had been there for weeks, maybe months, even...

But her fears evaded as she stared at her hand, the same one she had used to touch herself earlier, another blush spreading through her at the memory. She had been so fearful of being defiled that she had completely missed the bandages that hugged her palm.

What surprised her the most was the way said bandages were applied, though. They were firm, yet not uncomfortable or painful in any way. They were soft against her skin, but they did not budge when she tugged at their seams. They were old like the whole building, yet cleaner than her own hands had been.

She would need to wash her hands later...for more reasons than one. There was another she could clean them, yes, but that might not be such a good idea when her hands weren't clean to begin with. **Fuck.** She probably should've had washed it earlier, before she had even thought about touching such places! Her situation was already bad enough for a vaginal infection.

Sighing at her own stupidity, Fiona contemplated the healing garments once again. They were applied with such...care. Whoever had bandaged her, whoever had cared for her, had made an extremely great job of it in the process. She owed a big "thank you" for whoever applied them, for sure, and she would make it through!

But who did it, anyway? There were so very few people around her and even fewer who would go out of their way to help her out. The only one who had done something of the sort was the maid, and the thought did everything but appease her mind.

The man on the stairs invaded her thoughts then. The cloaked one. He had sounded exactly like her father, yet had dressed like somewhat of a cheap villain out of a comic book. Appearances were deceiving, she had learned that the hard way, but something just didn't felt right about him.

She doubted he would be able to tend to her hand so tenderly, though. Hell, she doubted that he would even care enough to do so in the first place. Even more so if he shared more with her father than a voice. Nah. He would have left her hands to bleed as a trophy - a memento of her mistakes and reminder for her to do better next time.

Who the fuck was he, anyway? One of her captors, no doubt, but why in hell did he sounded like her father? Even the way he walked was familiar, but it could've been a trick of the lights or an illusion cast by her own broken mind.

It was so frustrating to have a simple answer on one hand, and an almost unknown one on the other, but it was all she had, and therefore all she could fathom to cling herself to.

The simple answer was that it was indeed her father, and such a thing was so stupid she had no doubts that it was wrong. The other answer, though she could taste it on the tip of her tongue, continued to evade her as a snake would an eagle. That is why it was so complicated, after all - because she didn't know shit about it.

And the fat man? It was clear that they both shared a connection she could not comprehend. He had stopped his movements when the cloaked man ordered something, and only night itself knew what he had done after she passed away on the stairs.

Those words were kinda familiar, though. The tone he had used, too. Her parents had tried to teach her that language many seasons before, and she had found it as part of one of her art courses, to boot. But she had never mastered the damn thing, nor had she ever wanted to do so. She had never thought she'd live to regret such decision. **Latin** was a dead tongue, after all.

But maybe it had nothing to do with the males and everything to do with the fairer sex. The maid...she had an air of grace and dedication that she couldn't really match, and quite frankly, she knew not of someone who ever would. And that came from looking at her, only. It could be that her appearance was deceiving, too, but it sure as hell didn't felt like that to her heart.

Her eyes, though, knew death much better than Latin. They were blank and she seemed so...spaced out when she did her things. Back in the room she thought the woman was crazy, then that she had earphones or something, or that she was in a trance. Then at the kitchen it was only the last of the three.

What was her name, anyway? Maybe if she had started their conversation with that instead of a stuttered out "hey" she would've had replied. Maybe she wanted manners equal to her own? There was no way she'd actively seek the woman out to ask about her _preferences_ after the soup incident, though.

But she was stalling, really. She had no idea who had tended to her wounds, and she was grateful for whoever it was, but she'd receive nothing but a major headache if she kept up with her line of thought. At the time, actions were far more welcome than thoughts.

Her ears suddenly caught air of a bestial whimper outside. It came from somewhere in the patio and it grew more desperate with each of its outcries. Something was in pain out there, and it howled it at the moon as if to beg it for mercy that would never arrive - as a last hope of survival.

Up and down went her chest as she got up from the bed and approached one of the windows. She made a point of using her left hand to spread the curtains apart, and made sure to stay in the shadows while her eyes peaked out.

The patio was kissed by moonlight and hid but leaves and dirt in its entrails. Water sprouted from deep underground through a fancy fountain. Was it even active when she woke up on the cages below? Her head throbbed every time she tried to remember its state, but, whatever was the case, it gave the whole place more of an artistic look.

Howl after whiny howl raped her core and she stepped away from the glass. There was nothing outside on that part of the yard. Nothing but riches and foliages, anyway, and it would do no good to will anything to life with the force of her mind.

A breath to steady her heart, a breath to strengthen her legs and a breath to steel her resolve, and Fiona approached the last window in the room. The sounds grew louder with each step, but it could've been her own blood for all she knew. It bested the whistles and the beeps by far, at least.

Her forehead lost its disguise as she stared out the fogged window. There were less riches and far more dirt on that side of the patio, but what caught her attention was the giant tree who sat close to one of its edges. That and the small canine that laid down on its own paws, chained to the giant roots.

Memories of a dark room invaded her mind as his pitiful eyes met hers somehow. She knew that **feeling** far too well. She knew that **situation** far too well. Did they tell him it was **for his own good** , too? That it would make him **feel better** in the end?

No. She gritted her teeth. That wouldn't do.


	7. Beneath Nightfall

**Arc I: The Belli Castle**  
 **Chapter VII: Beneath Nightfall**

The thick veil of night impregnated the distance in her eyes as she approached the furred being, her heaving chest betraying the apprehension that coursed freely through her veins. It chilled her blood as much as the air chilled her skin, but it was not enough to deter her.

When had it grown so cold outside, anyway?

She contemplated her reason for climbing down that impossibly high set of stairs and to approach a beast that could be the end of her as well as it could be of no consequence whatsoever. A beast that ever so slightly moved its head to stare directly into her eyes for the second time in the past minutes.

It wasn't that dogs were her favourite animals or anything like that. Hell, she had no idea which breed the one in front of her belonged to, or if "breed" was even the correct terminology in the first place. It was hard for her to pinpoint his colour in the moonlight already, for crying out loud!

A feral growl froze her in place. The dog's mouth split apart to reveal a set of angry, thorned teeth as it moved its frail frame back up on its four legs. Its bravado lasted but a second, though, for it let out a whimper and crawled back against the giant roots.

Her mouth worked to soothe the poor thing as she put her palms up, yet all that escaped its insides was a dry cough that made the whimpering grow a little harsher. A complete backfire on her part, but still she braved the couple of steps it took for her to approach the animal.

"H-hey..." She tried again, but her voice still broke into a cough. Its eyes shone as they caught hold of hers for the third time, fear unhidden in the depths of their irises. "Calm down, buddy, I'm not gonna hurt you." Another whimper. "Hey, hey. I promise!"

She crouched down over the dog and touched her knees to the ground, unfazed by all the dirt that found home on her recently cleaned skin. Her hands - she had watched them at the fountain on her way out - tried to reach for it, but it flinched away from her touch with a new whimper and the softest of growls.

Her eyes travelled along white fur that could've been grey and it was her time to flinch. A small chain encircled the animal's neck as if to hang it off the tree, and she didn't had to be an expert to know it was too tight to be safe. Small protrusions sprouted from its length and forced themselves inwards, making it all the worse. It was a cruel replacement for a dog collar, and, by the way the poor thing shivered, it was on its way to become its murdering weapon, too.

A new kind of war raged between her mind and her heart then. It made her legs tremble and her teeth grit loudly. Anger, hatred, repulse or disgust - which of them did she feel the most at that point? Impossible to say with the way she kept drifting from one towards the other.

The dog whimpered again and she unscrewed her face at once. She sure as all hell weren't causing the best first impression on it. But what else could she do? It wouldn't let her approach any further nor would it allow her to touch the chains and pry them free!

Another thought made her eyes widen and a tentative smile to take hold of her face. She had completely forgotten that small, yet extremely important detail with the storm of emotions raging inside her mind. Or maybe it had to do with the fact she hated the place in which she had found such a thing, and had vowed never to go back.

"Hewe?" The dog's ears picked up at the sound and all its protests seemed to melt into a snort. "Is that you, buddy?" It stared back at her. Maybe she should focus herself on the name...

"Is that you, Hewe?" She tried again, and the way his ears picked up once more told her everything she needed to know. "Would you let me check those things? I promise I mean you no harm, Hewe."

It kept its stare focused on her, but lowered his head all the same. She took it as consent and approached her hands from the chains, mind racing with what ifs that ultimately ended with her hand being bitten and she gaining a new enemy in that cursed place.

To her surprise, though, all of her imaginations were burnt to crisps as her hand touched the cold metal of the chains. She stared at the dog...no...she stared at him, she stared at **Hewe** , and offered a reassuring smile.

"Its gonna be alright, buddy" She promised, hands tugging and pulling at his restrains. They were far tighter than they seemed, and for a second she thought they would not budge at all, but they cracked out of a sudden and her ass found the ground, chains held tight in her palms.

A bark forced her eyes up to his and a shiver up her spine. He was finally free of all restraints, even though they still pierced the roots, but the coldness never left his eyes. And to make it worse, she was at the mercy of his next actions, what with the whole falling down on her ass thing.

She gulped internally as he made his slow approach. Maybe she had hurt him when she tried to get rid of the chains, and he had taken it as an assault. Maybe he just didn't felt as much gratitude as she thought he would once set free. Or maybe she should've just thought it all better before doing anything to a potentially dang-

His breath pierced her ears and she closed her eyes shut, only to have them open again in surprise as he pressed his muzzle against her cheeks in a soft caress. His fur felt better than the softness of every blanket she had used and every pet she had touched before. It felt, in a way, like **home**.

"Good boy, Hewe!" She embraced his neck with one of her arms and accepted his caresses with a smile. His tail denounced his happiness at the praise as it slapped away at her thighs. "Such a good, brave boy you are..."

Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't be forced to survive alone anymore. Maybe she had finally met someone to be there for her when she needed it the most. Maybe she had finally made a friend!

A thought struck at her then as she caressed his fur with the tips of her fingers. After everything they had done the poor thing, her captors or whoever it was that had chained him to the tree roots, she wouldn't allow them into his belongings, no matter how much she wished she would.

"Come, Hewe." She stood up and petted him on the head when he let out an agreeing bark...or what she thought was an agreeing bark, anyway. "We have something of yours to retrieve."

o - o - o - o - o

So maybe she should've thought her second plan through, too. It was hard enough to move around that damn claustrophobic cellar with sunlight seeping through its ruined ceiling. But to do that at night? Suffice to say, it was not a good idea. Not a good idea at all!

Shadows found their place at her right and threw her into the hungry mouth of a dark abyss. They also crept in from the left, and from above, and from below and from behind her lids, too! They devoured her whole, and there was no turning back anymore, for "back" was nowhere to be found.

Hewe whimpered from somewhere at her side, and she twisted herself around to find a brand new river of darkness. Her feet hit something hard on her haste, though, and she could do nothing but brace herself for the fall.

It did not hurt as much as she thought it would. What was it with her ass and falling onto it time and time again, anyway? Almost felt too frequent to be a coincidence...but that was just her being paranoid.

"H-Hewe?" She hated how her voice broke from a mere scare. Her chest went up and down faster the longer her furred friend kept her in wait for his reply. "That's not funny, big boy." She tried again, to no avail. "Where are you, Hewe?"

She waited an eternity and then a some more, just to make sure, but silence was her only response. Her heart throbbed and fell down into her core. Her eyes fluttered and her lungs burned. A very, very bad idea, indeed...

A minute or two passed before she recovered her breathing and allowed life back into her limbs. Her right hand got tangled into something soft as she tried to use it to lift herself off the floor, though, and she pulled the limb back with a startled gasp. So much for calming herself down.

Tentative yet cautious, her fingers trailed themselves along the object, and her mind flooded with relief when she took it for what it was: Hewe's collar. It was why she had entered that dark place to begin with, and now she was finally free to leave its morbid insides! But...

A wooden crack penetrated her ears and she willed herself back up with haste. Not the smartest of moves, but the first to ever cross her mind whenever fear loaded itself into her heart. The "flee on sight" move, that was.

Blue light invaded her eyes then, and Hewe's snarls followed in its wake. She could barely see his frame backing away from the light and against her feet, and the view forced a step backwards from her opposite leg.

"Hewe?" She whispered, voice croaked from the dryness in her throat. "Do you know what that is?" He barked weirdly at the light, anger tightly packed into his threat. Whatever it was, he did not like it one bit.

The light flickered just as the dog reached her and, for a second or so, Fiona thought someone would creep out from behind the wooden crates holding a blue candle or something weird like that. She never expected a floating orb of pure blue light to reveal itself, though, nor for the wood to scream loudly at its mere touch.

It was official. Wherever the fuck she was, it was one of the worst places in the world for her to be at, and undoubtedly the creepiest one. What was next, Edward Scissorhands? Everything seemed possible giving that miss Tinkerbell seemed ready to fucking toast them both alive!

The ball of...whatever it was made of...approached them with slow, taunting movements, and Hewe let out another of his muffled barks. Fuck, maybe that thing had touched his mouth. If so, that must've hurt him like hell!

She took another step backwards and cast a glance over her shoulders. She saw the staircase then. That weird-assed light had cast its clutches all over it, and she couldn't help but be thankful for that small miracle of sorts.

"Come, boy" her voice echoed between the walls and seemed to fuel the orb's hunger for their heads. "We gotta go, Hewe" he growled at the thing but turned his body aside together with hers. "Now!" And so they ran.

It was an all too familiar situation to her - to run away from someone, or rather, to run away from **something**. She had lost count of how many times she had done so in the past couple of hours, and that wasn't even the tip of the iceberg one would call her past. Courage was never one of her virtues, after all.

They sped up the stairs, her feet almost getting caught by one of its deformed steps, and turned back to peer into the darkness below. Blue rays approached from its intestines, and Fiona's frame set itself ablaze.

One pursuer was enough to get her ankle broken, and fuck knew what else was wrong with her at that point, physical and otherwise. Two would be the death of her, and of that she was sure of.

But she wasn't the only one that mattered anymore. Her eyes travelled down to her right side, where her friend growled a strange growl at the light with all his might. She was not alone, and she would make damn sure that he wouldn't be, too.

She had to do something, and she had to do it fast. Otherwise the thing below ground would never leave them alone, and something told her it was far more dangerous than the fat man and the maid from before. But it could be no more than her fear of the unknown, she had to admit.

Two wooden planks caught her attention when the orb finally extended its clutches up the stairs. They were holding a couple of heavy boxes just above the entrance, for reasons she couldn't really comprehend. Her captors had quite the unique sense of style, she had realized a long time before.

But that didn't mattered at the time. All that mattered was that the crates would be a great barricade, or at least good enough a diversion for them to run away from that thing.

"Hewe!" She pointed at the plank on the left as she ran at the one on the right. "Break that thing, but be careful where it lands!"

He gave her another of his strange barks and ran straight to the plank, hitting it with his head in what looked to be an immensely painful way. She shut her eyes with guilt and kicked her own structure off.

With their support severed, all the crates fell down onto the staircase, effectively trapping the light inside. It shook moments later and her wide eyes feared it would gave into the orb's might, but it did not, and she couldn't help to breathe out her relief.

It did not last long, though, for her feet took her fast to her friend's shaky side.

"Hewe!" She crouched down next to him and took hold of his head. "Whatever were you thinking, bud!?" She petted his head, exactly where it had hit the wood, and was glad that nothing liquid stuck to her fingers.

"Never do that again, okay?" He whimpered, and she forced him to look her in the eyes. Something fell from his mouth and onto her boots, but she had more pressing matters at hand. "Never again, you hear me!?"

She let out a sigh and ruffled his fur a little more, all the while doing her damn best to convey her worry through her eyes. It wouldn't do for him to think her to be mad at him for saving her or carrying out her orders, after all.

"Good boy, Hewe" She cooed, to his confused stare. "You saved both our asses out there, you know? Just make sure you don't hurt yourself in the process next time, eh?" He barked, happily swinging his tail.

"Huh?" She looked down at the thing he had dropped onto her boots and picked it up. It was cold to the touch, and sticky with his saliva - she'd wash it at the fountain together with her hands, for sure - and the shadows made it hard to see, but she managed to anyway.

"A key..." She whispered to them both. It was a big-assed, metallic key, and quite the heavy one, too. Whatever it opened, it had to be big. Sadly, not nearly big enough to be the exit gates. "But where to?"

She willed the questioning thoughts out of her mind as wiped the saliva out the object and slipped it into one of her boots. She'd think about all that bullshit at a later time, preferably one in which they weren't both in plain sight or close to something that wanted them both dead.

At the moment, though, she had a job to do. It was the sole reason for her to have entered that damn cellar in the first place! Thus she, with an honest smile, fastened the collar around Hewe's neck, where it rightfully belonged to.


	8. The Cathedral of Pain, part I

**Arc I: The Belli Castle**  
 **Chapter VIII: The Cathedral of Pain, part I**

As her eyes took in the tower-like building ahead, Fiona knew that she would never understand the planning behind the castle's design. It wasn't that its style was a mix of cultures and traditions or a lack of both. It was simply unique enough for her art teachings not to allow her to comprehend.

That was not to say it was confusing, though. Whoever had build it had made sure the places were all close to each other and she was sure that, giving time, she would never feel lost again...yet something always felt odd about the place. Something other than its inhabitants, of course.

She had used Hewe's key to unlock a gate in the yard not three minutes before, and it had led her into a straight path to the tower. It was somewhat of a rich coincidence that it worked on her first try, when she really thought about it, yet she couldn't really make herself care. It was one of the first things that went as she planned, and she wasn't about to complain and risk ruining a possible twin.

The whole situation felt like being trapped into the castle of a duke, only to discover it was owned by some kind of cult from an old world. Not the most realistic of views, but enough to raise some red flags in her mind, at the very least. But, then again, magical statues, demented people with bloodlust and animated electricity were far from what one would call a "realistic view" in the first place.

She took a moment to trace the small stone tablet carved beside the door. Its words were visible in the dark, yes, but she longed for the coldness of its corpse. It was like a drug to her very soul - one that soothed her mind and put her troubles to sleep.

Her hands left the frame and she took a step back to take in the sights of the building a last time. The sign called it the "music tower", and she couldn't figure out why one would need such a thing in the first place. A music room, mayhaps, but a tower? Of all the instruments she knew about, only a giant accordion would need such a thing, and they were as rare as diamonds and gold from a single stone. Well, maybe not **that** rare, but still rare as hell.

She shook her head. Fuck. She had told herself not to do that again, but it had helped her with her troubled mind more than she would ever will herself to admit. It was something she learned as a kid, but it always felt weird and somewhat wrong of her to repeat it after the one too many lectures she had received from her parents and doctors alike.

 _Not bad for her health yet not normal enough for a Belli..._

The memory sent a shiver up her spine and she stopped short of twisting the doorknob. It was her mother's voice. It echoed from somewhere beyond a closed set of doors, and, by the way it was pitched, the woman was far from amused.

Her father, almost always supportive of her mother's wishes, would agree soon after she said that, and the painful memory would culminate into many sleepless nights at college.

If they had known about her true self, would they've had the same reaction? Would she be the thing on the wrong side of the balance instead of one of her habits? Would her true self not be normal enough for a Belli, too? She gave her best to, she really did, but it was just too hard for her to think otherwise.

The door gave out a protest as she crept past its lifeless frame. It wasn't as loud as its predecessors had been, but it was enough to catch her off-guard and sent her feet into positions they were not fabricated to reproduce. It was a miracle she did not fall onto her own head.

The worst thing about her...conditions, was knowing that they were right about her. Maybe not about **everything** , but enough for her to want to change - to upgrade herself to not only fit their desires, but to fit her own. Yet, even though she did her best, nothing ever seemed to change.

Always **frail** , always **scared** , always **nauseated** and always **dizzied** by the simplest of things. When would it all stop? When would her mind repair itself and allow her thoughts to run together with reality instead of tearing it off her heart?

A cold, sinister breeze crawled up her legs and penetrated her to the core. It came not from the outside, but from the intestines of the building, and it set her whole stance on edge. Something was terribly wrong with that place, and, whatever it was, would surely end up in more pain for her.

A whimpering sound came from her right and she let out a breath she did not know to hold. Hewe was there, too. She was not alone anymore. He had sharp teeth and a quite fast body. He would protect her of the fat man, and she would protect him of the man, too, if needed be.

Yes, but...how?

Her eyes took in the room with frozen disdain. It was as old on the inside as it was on the outside, but it was far bigger and emptier than she thought it would be. Furnitures were rare and a huge chandelier dangled from the spiral-like ceiling. For a moment she thought it would fall, but all it did was swing on itself with a clank enough times for irritation to swept through the cracks of her mind.

She was overthinking again. There was nothing extraordinary about the room. It was just her mind playing "fuck Fiona up" again. Nothing new. There was probably nothing at all covered by the white sheets dangled over the sofa, and there was definitively no one boring their eyes on the back of her skull from somewhere above.

Nope. It was all in her head. All in her-

Hewe's growls destroyed her facade and deformed her face into a flinch, forcing her eyes shut with a startled hiss. It was **not** just in her head. There **was** someone on the upper floor staring at the back of her head, and the chances of it being the fatso were way too many to ignore.

But...The pig had never been so quiet before. Of course she hadn't met him in many ways, thankfully so, but in the short time that they had...interacted with each other, he was more than willing to express his disturbing glee. No, the only time she had felt like that before was when-

Her eyes opened and she looked up with a step backwards into the room as her body twisted around and away from the door. They widened as soon as they hit the silhouette that had plagued her thoughts.

It was the cloaked man.

His eyes burned her core from beneath the shadows of his hood. They echoed inside her ears as would a snake about to mangle its prey. But the worse part was the way they met hers and held them with nothing but cold-blooded desire.

Whether by her choice or by her body's own, Fiona took a new step backwards, only to have the back of her legs collide against a hard, almost frozen object. Her eyes left his to stare at the intrusion, only to discover a small, round table. It was empty of everything but a single blue key. A single **big** blue key - no doubts big enough to be her way out that gate.

Would it be possible for her to grab it and make a run out into the yard and off that gate? If she managed it, though, would the lock decay or would it merely laugh at her as the man, whoever he was, dragged her back into _her_ room? Or would he do it way before she left the music tower?

And, if she indeed left through the gate...what would happen? What was there beyond their blockade? She remembered exactly what she had seen outside her parent's car, or at least as far as her _perfect_ memory would let her. And she also remembered exactly what she had **not** seen outside the car.

If she were to leave, she would be miles away from any sort of civilization, and fuck knew how many of those weirdos would be on her trail. Not to mention her parents would've been left behind, trapped in whatever dark place they were at. Would they even survive enough for the authorities to arrive? Would **she** survive enough to reach them? Would the authorities even **believe** her in the first place? It wouldn't be the first time they did not...

"Ah, Fiona!" That voice...why did it had to sound so much like her father's!? It sent nasty shivers up her spine and made her limbs tremble with the foulest anticipation.

She allowed her body to face the man and her eyes to stare back at his cloaked face. Her movements were devoid of all grace, yet she managed to tuck the key into one of her boots somehow. There were no doubts in her mind that the man saw it perfectly, though.

Her heart pounded and her veins threatened to burst, but having her aggressor in view gave her some sort of relief, as weird as that was to admit. It was like, whenever he shadowed himself from her, he'd burst off the ground and stab her in the chest with a shard of glass or a fire poker or something equally deadly.

"I see you've finally awakened..." His words teased her insecurities. Oh, how she wanted to pull a smart-assed comment at his choice of words, but her mouth refused to move, so deep was her fear.

"There's something that I wanted to show you for quite some time, now." His voice echoed around the chamber as his hands found home on the handrails above. For a second she feared he'd jump down and chase after her like the other man had, yet all he did was avert his eyes from hers and onto something past her frame. She couldn't help but do the same.

"Pull away that sheet behind you."

It was probably the least great thing to her bones, and the least great thing to her **life** , but she spun her body around a new time, anyway. To obey him would grant her a little bit of time. With any luck, that time would be enough for her to decide whether to fight or to flee.

She was curious about what awaited her beneath the sheets, though, and there was no way she could deny that to herself. Plus, the drop was way too high for him to try and jump down on her, anyway. She could do it safely, and then run off before his next disgusting quote caught wind of her ears.

But it could be her only time to escape, too. If she were to wait some more, others might close in on her from another door, or someone might lock her in the room, or maybe the man would really-

Her hands gripped at the sheet and pulled it off with a single, spiteful move. Hewe protested at her side, but she paid him no mind, confident that nothing she uncovered could ever make her feel worse than the man did himself...

She gasped and took a shaky step backwards as soon as the sheets hit the carpet. Bile rose up her chest and trapped itself into the depths of her throat while her heart dropped down onto the pits of her stomach, where it burnt the whole of her core. Her limps shook as leaves thrown into a storm and her vision blackened out once and again.

"Aaaaaaaah" His voice was like a moan, luxurious and hungry to her ears. It mocked her psyche as her hands descended to embrace her own lower abdomen. If she had any doubts about what the fat man wanted with her, she had none about the current one. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Beautiful? **Beautiful!?** Her mind screamed with rage her body refused to discharge. That thing wasn't beautiful, that thing wasn't even supposed to exist! It was sick, and wrong and disgusting, and fuck she wanted to **puke**!

It was a statue of her. No. It was a marble-carved replica of hers, and it was perfected in the smallest of details. But it also held quite a protuberant addition: a huge, flawlessly sculpted pregnant belly. **Her** huge, pregnant belly!

"That, my dear, is what you will become in the future..." His words were like poison to her bloodstream and her hands immediately shot off from herself. "Go ahead..." He lured her, almost in need. "You may touch it."

She would never touch such a...such a disturbing thing, not even if her life depended on it! No. She would do her best to forget about that shit, and never, ever look back at it. Touching it would only make it feel more...truthful. Touching it would only make it feel real.

"You _**will**_ be mine, Fiona..." He breathed at last, and she swore it tickled the very hairs of her back. The feeling was enough for her to spin around a last time and for her eyes to stare beyond the chandelier.

He was gone. There were no traces of him but the laughter that raped the air over and over as much as it raped her ears. Would that be how she'd end? As another one of his pleasures? As a broken, sex-toy for his own sick joy?

The piano started to play from somewhere upstairs, and her tears to spew from her eyes. It was all she could take - she could not endure anything else. No fucking way. No. Not anymore. She was way beyond her limits, and the shattering world around her screamed the same together with her mouth.

 **o - o - o - o - o**

Her fingers touched softly against her own palm as she knocked on the wooden door. The sound echoed across the hallway, and she knew it would do the same inside the bedroom, for sure. It surprised her, thus, that none answered her calls.

"Miss?" She tried, her voice as soft and inquisitive as she could manage. It felt weird inside her throat when she did so, but she was nothing but well mannered and would never break any code of conduct. No matter what it took.

It had been a couple of hours since she had last seen the girl, safe and covered under the warmth of the bed sheets. It surprised her how light she had felt on her arms as she carried the blonde away from the stairway. That was probably another one of her own flaws, though. No adult woman would've felt that light to a frail woman like herself...would they?

She had made sure to give Debilitas more than enough work to fill his mind as not to disturb Fiona, and to apply her special balm to her ankles and hand. Who was it that had hurt her like that, anyway? Maybe she would have to speak to her master about it soon...

Regardless of the circumstances, though, why did she not answer to her voice? Had she done something weird again? Was it, mayhaps, her smile? Was it too forced? Did it showed too much teeth? Too little? Did her face looked funny with it carved at it? Maybe she shouldn't had smiled, after all. Or could her haste as not to lose dinner time to blame? She had never lost dinner time before, though, so surely the miss would understand.

She tried another knock, and tilted her head to the side when the door gave into the impact with a loud crack. Her eyes immediately found her hands, but no new colours painted her digits. Red was there, yes, but it was already darkened by the hours.

A swift, yet gracious movement and she penetrated the room. It was empty, which revealed to her why there were no answers at the door. But the revelation also rooted new doubts and questions into her mind.

She took a small glance around the room, but it was enough for her brief introspection to be forced into a halt: the sheets were trashed all around the bed! The mistress must had left in a hurry, otherwise they would've been well made, as they were supposed to be. She would have to ask her about it later, maybe, if master allowed her to.

Her hands moved towards the offending fabric. They tugged here, pushed and pulled there, and slowly, yet surely, the bed was well made. She made sure to check the pillows for unwanted guests before she took a step back, though. It was never a bad thing to check.

Now things were as they should be: in order and in place. No weird edges or incorrect folds on the sheets and no stains or foul stenches on the woods. Nothing but the pure, friendly perfume of-

A single note violated her ears and she twisted her neck awkwardly to the window. It was a "sol", and a very bad one at it. Only one person had such inability with the piano, yet dared to touch its corpse.

"Ricardo..." She whispered as a frown overshadowed her features. Words gnawed at her throat as her eyes hardened into a glare, and she forced them out her mouth to an earless, deaf room. "Miss Fiona has a dinner that she cannot miss."

 **o - o - o - o - o**

No more. No. She couldn't take it anymore. No part of her could. Her legs were like cement and her lungs like fire balls. Their combined pain forced her to her knees as her chest nailed her heart inside its coffin-like walls.

What chilled her to the bone and crashed her mind back to reality was not what came from her entrails, though. It was a sound that came from the outside of her skeleton and way beyond her carcass, and it penetrated it through her ears with greed.

She knew the sound of a lock when she heard it, and she was already far too familiarized with those giggles at the time not to know what had just happened. Still she forced her own head to look behind her shoulders and onto the sealed doors of the cathedral.

Cold sweat dripped off her forehead and onto the floor as she turned her body around and used what little strength she had left to pull herself off the ground. A haunted tingle crept down spine as her eyes prepared to move up and meet the man's own, yet found a giant blue key attached to a leather belt.

Her eyes darted all around the place. There should be a way out somewhere else. A window or a door or a low roof she could use as her personal escape route. No way that was the only way out!

 **Fuck**.

There was nothing in sight but tall walls and an untouchable ceiling. The windows were barricaded by a glass she surely could not break without cutting her own head off in the process, and there were no doors but the one she had raced pass in her way into the "holy" place.

 **There was no escape.**

She wanted to scream some more and to rage at herself for forgetting the damn key on the lock. She wanted to shout at the fat man and kick him where it mattered. She wanted to do the exact same thing to whoever kidnapped her in the first place! A gulp down her throat and a painful hiss off her mind were all the things she managed to do, though.

A familiar growl came from one of her sides and she felt some of her tension ease off her chest. Hewe was there with her that time. She wouldn't have to face the man alone like before. She didn't needed to run away from him! She could do something - anything - and then she wouldn't have to run away from him ever again! Yes! If she scared him enough, then-

Her bravado was short lived, though, for as soon as her friend stepped in front of her, she noticed the frail state his body was in. No way she could endanger him just for some childish fantasy of tug-o-war. But what carved at her soul was the way he limped. He hadn't limped before the...episode in the music room.

 **Fuck, it was he fault**.

Why did everything had to be her fucking fault!? She didn't wanted anything of that! She didn't wanted to be trapped inside some place out of a horror book or to put her parents in danger or to force her friend to run so much that his paws bled!

 **She didn't wanted to be the reason why her parents were k-**

Joyful, unabashed giggles ironically saved her from the terrors of her mind. The man giggled as a child would at his favourite toy - his hands making grabbing motions and everything!

"My dolly!" He happily proclaimed, slapping at his own face and making weird gestures, much like an adult would to a baby on the street. "My dolly!" He repeated, and the bile almost wore down her throat.

Well, shit.


	9. The Cathedral of Pain, part II

**Arc I: The Belli Castle**  
 **Chapter IX: The Cathedral of Pain, part II**

Poesy and irony collided as her eyes took in his racing legs. She had spent so many hours hating herself for running away, from problems and dangers alike, yet, when all she needed to do was to run, her legs simply refused to move.

It could have been karma all along, really. It surely as hell would explain her long chains of bad luck and the way she put herself into worse shit every time she followed through with her hopes. It wouldn't be the first time it happened, too!

But, in the end, none of those thoughts mattered at all. Not when the man was halfway through the chapel's floor, his hands already grabbing at the air as if it was her frame. No. All that mattered then was that she was too weak to move, and that it was all her own damn fault.

A deep, menacing growl left Hewe's throat, and her eyes travelled off the man and onto her furry friend. He looked so dirty and so hurt, and her heart throbbed at the truth of who had played a major hand in his suffering.

His growl turned into a bark and soon his sharp teeth dug themselves on the fat man's leg, who screamed in pain and flailed his limb around, as if to cool a flame off his foot. It would've been a hilarious sight in a normal day, but there was nothing normal about her life whatsoever, to begin with.

Fiona expected many things to strike at her as the man twisted himself around and howled his pain. Complete and utter nothingness was not part of them, but it was all she felt at the time.

Were was the satisfaction? The glee of having her pursuer suffering some well deserved pain? Of having her fearful heart revenged, even if a little bit? And, most importantly, where was all the relief?

She closed her eyes as the screams turned into grunts, and forced her legs to move. There were no exits but the locked one, and no ways upstairs from what she could see, but there was a large altar she could hide behind. Not the best of plans, she knew, but it was the only one she had at the time - the benches were just too small for her to hide beneath.

Hewe's whine penetrated her ears and clawed at her core like a hunger-driven beast. Her body froze on the spot, and she refused to look behind her shoulders in fear of what she might find.

So loud were the beatings of her heart that she failed to hear the footsteps that approached from her back. But she did not fail to see the hands that encircled her frame from behind, nor to feel the sudden way in which the floor was ripped off her feet.

Air blazed itself from her lungs as her ribs were slowly forced together by the mammoth's grip. Her vision fogged and her eyes watered while all colours left her already blank world. She could swear to have heard her bones crack out of place when his arms crushed her against his fat chest, even, but it was hard to know for sure.

Cold shadows lurked from the corners of her vision and offered her their welcoming embrace. It took all she had to resist their lure, more than she could spare to give, and it took even more for her to fill her lungs a new time, so tight was his grip

Was that really how it all would come to an end? With a bear hug from a stalker who shared half the moon's weight? Really? She had imagined many ways to go, but that one was, by far, the most pitifully stupid one. And it fitted her better than any glove ever would.

Air flooded back into her lungs as her knees crashed hard against the cold floor. She heard her friend's gnaws and the male's painful gasp, but she was far too worried in staying awake and alive to spare a glance at their fight.

Her vision flashed through one too many shades of grey as her eyes focused on the nearest of the walls. She could see the altar at the distance, and let another painful intake of air through her mouth. When had they moved away from it anyway? How long had she been held in the man's grasp? Fuck, it had felt like forever!

She shook her head, then. A very bad move, for whatever she had inside her stomach suddenly wanted a way out. She would have none of it, though, and stilled her breathing together with her resolve. It wasn't enough to stop the tidal waves from crashing against her entrails, but it was enough to put her back into her feet, at the very least.

It took a couple of blinks and far more than a couple of heart beats for her body to regain its senses, and fuck did she wished it hadn't regained **all** of them. Things would've been so much easier if she didn't had to worry about a spiralling head on top of a possibly broken ribcage.

Another whimper forced its way into her ears, and she snaked her eyes off the floor and onto her pursuer. He held the back of his neck with his right hand as blood oozed from whatever wound her friend's teeth had left behind.

Speaking of her friend...

Her eyes travelled once more to focus on Hewe's abused frame. It was his time to whimper and shake his head, and something in her chest broke when he got up on shaky legs, almost giving into his own pain in the process, only to move back to her front and growl menacingly at the man.

He was not her fucking shield, damn it! Why did he insisted to help her, even after she had used and abused of him? Of course she was not the one to chain him to a tree in such a horrible manner, but she was the one who had forced him to do things that left him limping, and fuck knew what else!

Why couldn't he just let her go? It would suit them both the best, wouldn't it? He'd be free of her bossing him around, and she would be free of the guilt. It was a fair deal, wasn't it? So why didn't he took it from the start? Was it because he couldn't think like a human would? Or maybe that's what being a friend meant? **How the fuck would she know**!?

A slap echoed through the cathedral and she glanced at the fatso. His hands had collied against his own face. It wasn't the first time she had seen him do something like that, but it was the first time she could understand the reason behind his actions. He wanted to make sure that it was real, that **he** , himself, was real, and that was a feeling she knew better than she knew herself.

In a way they were the same - all the three of them. They were all battered, bruised and abused in their own ways. The man's gestures told her as much, at least, and his face spoke volumes of his conditions. Hewe...well, he did not need to tell her anything for her to understand it with a glance. And as for her, she had her parents to thank for it all. But that was just a mix of wishful thinking and blame shifting, really.

Hauntingly cold shivers crawled over her skin as the wind defiled the windows high above. They froze her blood and crippled her frame with electric shocks a little too violent for her liking. Was that how it would feel to be touched by that blue orb? It would probably be worse, of course, but would it be anything like that at all? She was not about to seek it out to discover it, and that was for sure!

Metal hit metal somewhere on the ceiling and her eyes gazed up to meet the dancing chandelier. It hung down by a single rusted chain as the bursts of wind threw it off its resting place. More than once it seemed like it would crash down below, and not like the one she saw at the music room, that did it on purpose.

Hope burnt its way into her heart at the thought, her eyes darting from the object to its supports and back again. If she could make it fall, then maybe the man would be too scared, or too impressed, to chase after her anymore. Another stupid plan, she knew full damn well, but it was also the only thing she could do to survive, too, and hell would froze over before she would give up after so many struggles.

The man had already stopped with his slaps and groans when she finally reached the lever that kept the chandelier in place. It was squared out at the edges but circle-shaped in its center, and held the chains in a strong, hard grip.

There was no way she could tear it apart on her own, but she owed it to Hewe and to herself to try, and try she did, over and over and many times more, the bandages on her hand tarnishing in the process. Nothing changed, nothing budged and nothing cracked, but her hands still forced themselves against the support, and banged against the chain.

Her eyes took in the blood on the chains before she felt the prickling at her fingers. The chains sprouted thorns as roses sprouted their flowers, yet that pain was nothing compared to the looming realization that crept its way into her chest - the realization that she was not enough, **again**.

How many times had it been like that? Just how many times had she failed at the most important of tasks just for not being enough? For being too weak to go along with her plan? For being too meek for her mouth to follow up with her mind? For being too scared to do the right thing?

A set of tiny hairs shot up from their resting place against the back of her neck, and she twisted her body around and away from the support. She had failed to hear his footsteps again, but had not failed to feel his presence behind her in time, at the very least, and she had his shadows to thank for that.

One second, maybe two, and his screams filled the cathedral once more. It took her more than that to realize what had happened, though, for she was a tad too busy moving away from the man to notice anything but her own fearful heart.

He had hit the support, and, by the way his hands clutched at his forehead and blood dripped down onto his face, it wasn't hard to understand which part of him took the whole damage.

His eyes narrowed and her own widened once more. She had never seem him like that. He was always, for a lack of a better term, a fat buffoon. Always sprouting a stupid expression, always too happy to crush her to dead with his arms. But never frowning...never **angry**.

She moved a couple steps backwards and parted her gaze from the man's contorted face to Hewe's trembling one. It was not an effort at all to crouch down and touch his muzzle, and her heart winced when he whimpered a little. He was more hurt than she had originally believed...

The agonizingly loud sound of metal hitting flesh drew her eyes upwards and towards the chandelier's support. The man had hit it with his anger-filled might, and, by the looks of it, the chain had not been able to hold itself together any longer. But who could blame it? She had felt his strength first hand, and he wasn't even clouded by his anger. She paled at the thought of how much stronger he would be if he managed to catch her again.

Another metallic sound violated her soon after, and she didn't needed to look upwards to know what had caused it. She had to do something, and she had to do it fast, or the chandelier would end up crushing her against the floor together with her canine friend.

A set of round, furious eyes found hers, and she took Hewe in her arms at once. She felt her friend protest against her chest, but held him tightly as she moved away from the dancing chandelier.

She didn't knew how far she had to move, but she gave up when Hewe forced his way back down and in front of her. Why couldn't he let her save him for once? Why did he had to be her saviour every time? It was not fair. It was not fair!

The man groaned ahead as he made his way across the cathedral. The chandelier cracked above yet her eyes refused to move away from his. She wanted to scream at him to move, to throw herself at the man and throw him away from the object. But a part of her also wanted for him to keep going, and for the thing to fall down onto his head and crush him once and for all.

Neither part of her had a say in what happened next, though. Her body was petrified by a range of emotions too wide for her to name, least of all for her mind to comprehend. Hell, she had to fight an everlasting battle just to breathe!

Yet, despite all her heart's turmoil, she didn't knew what to feel as the man stopped his advance to watch the chandelier fall from the ceiling. And, when his body was crushed against the cold, hard floor, she wished to never have thought about that fucking chandelier in the first place.

Dread, guilt, horror and relief flooded her mind at once as she took in the scene in front of her. Her stomach dropped and bile rose up her throat as she stared at the blood oozing from the man's lifeless form beneath the debris.

It was all her fault. It was all her fault. **It was all her fault**!Everything that had happened to him ever since they met, everything that had happened to Hewe ever since they met...She was always hurting, always destroying, always taking, never healing...

Fuck traditions and fuck what her parents thought were best for her! She had done the farthest thing from what she had ever planned to. She had killed a person - **she had killed that man!**

 _ **A true Belli, indeed**_...

 **o - o - o - o - o**

 _His face shone through a veil of darkness: her father's. She remembered the living room and the green that covered the walls, but she would be lying if she said she remembered the way he had looked at her then. She was far more preoccupied with her own tears at that point in time._

 _"Fiona, please, look at me, sweetie." She remembered his voice, though. It sounded exactly like the cloaked man's own. Maybe a little rougher or somewhat raspier...it was hard to tell from a broken memory. "Fiona,_ _ **you're a Belli**_ _. You don't need to cry for_ _ **such things**_ _."_

 _"But_ _ **I killed him**_ _, papa..." And she had. Of course it was not a person, nor was it anything big, but still its death had hit her harder than anything before. She should've paid more attention to herself back then, and even more so to her parent's reactions. But she was five. How could she had known that a fish would suffocate off the water!?_

 _"No, darling." He had reassured her with a comforting pat on the back. She remembered the way her sobbing subdued and her eyes sought his for support. Had he really meant that?_

 _"No?" Her voice was so frail, so broken, so hopeful...exactly like her heart felt after what she had just done._

 _"No, sweetie. You did not kill Mister Buggybrows." Oh, the way her eyes had widened then, hoping that it was true - that her friend was not dead, after all. "_ _ **His own weakness**_ _is what killed him." Only to have her whole world crash back down and shatter upon her. Was that how the whole despair, hope, suffer, repeat cycle had begun? She honestly could not tell._

 _"And you'll do well to remember that, Fiona."_

o - o - o - o - o

Had her father known what her choices would lead to, would he still keep his opinion at that time? Had her mother known she would kill a person the same way she had killed her water-breathing friend, would she had done things differently? Would they had treated her better? Would they had **loved** her better?

She felt the need to clutch at her heart and at her head, but couldn't bring herself to do either. It was just too much for her to bare - one too many droplets of blood staining her hands for her to live with.

The chandelier let out a crack, and she opened her eyes to a world purely moulded by black and white. Though the fog in her brain was thick, she could still make out the shape of the man underneath the heavy wreckage, and the way his eyes sought hers in what she understood to be a fusion of sorrow and pain. And she could make out, too, the way he lifted the thing off his back and slowly rose to his knees, blood dripping like sweat down his deformed face.

Her heart throbbed and the bad kind of butterflies flew all over her intestines. Dread crippled her features and guilt plagued her mind as she took in the holes on the back of his shirt, no doubt from the burning candles above.

Unabashed sorrow grabbed a hold of her soul as he bent his body forward and touched his forehead to the floor. She knew that gesture - she knew what that meant. She had drawn many a painting of the same pose back at art school. It was a signal of faith and reverence. But it was also a signal of submission and fabricated, yet shattered hope.

Was that his way of apologizing? Or was it his way of begging her for mercy? And why the fuck did none of them sounded pleasing to her ears? What the hell was she supposed to feel, anyway?

"Kick him where it hurt the most"? Was that what she was supposed to do? Or maybe it was to run away from him again, only to reboot their whole game of hide and seek? If not, then what? **Just what the fuck she was supposed to do!?**

He refused to utter a word as he crawled back to his feet, his eyes never leaving the floor, and she did nothing as he approached her at slow, melancholic steps. She knew what a folly it was to present herself like that - to leave herself defenceless and in the open like that. Yet...

Hewe growled at the man, but, just like her, he couldn't bring himself to do anything but to stare. She knew he was ready to jump at his throat and finish the job they both had started. She could feel it in the way he trembled against her legs. But he wanted her to tell him to do so - to allow him to end the man's life once and for all.

Then why didn't she?

The fat man kept his eyes downcast as he finally reached her almost at the center of the cathedral. She caught a new glimpse of them on his way, and they held nothing but sadness, sorrow and guilt. There were tears there, too, and, whether they were born of despair or out of pain, she could feel her own give their first breaths at the sight.

She had no time to apologize, or to finally give Hewe the "go ahead", though, for the man did not stop his walk, and sidestepped her instead. Relief flooded her veins if only for a single, brief second at his choice, but it did nothing to stop the trembling of her core.

A loud click of a defiled lock, the haunting cracking of a heavy, big door, and the slowly muting sound of strong footsteps were not enough to breathe life back into her frame, much less for her brain to regain its senses.

No. All it did was to force her down to the floor. And, as she kneeled on its cold, marble embrace, her sorrows bled away from her eyes and burned through the depths of her veins with malicious vengeance. It was a perfect fit for what she had done, though. Even more so for what she had **almost** done.

But, even then, with all the sorrow **and** the hurt **and** the pain **and** the guilt, she couldn't help but to allow a teary smile to tarnish her face, nor could she help but feel unashamed relief. She had done terrible things to that man, and he had done the same to her, but, in the end, she was not what she had feared she could end up to be. No. No matter how much they had hurt each other, Fiona Belli was not a killer.


	10. Not Always What It Seems

**Arc I: The Belli Castle**  
 **Chapter X: Not Always What It Seems**

Time flew by as her knees gave their best to embed themselves into the ground. How much so, she didn't knew, nor had she any desire to force herself to. Something had broken inside of her, something she had hoped would never brake, and she couldn't help but let its debris flood off her eyes.

It was Hewe who had saved her again, unsurprisingly, as he nuzzled his head against the bareness of her legs. His white fur was warming, understanding; welcoming - everything she had hoped for in the past, but was denied of by the ones she held the most trust upon.

She lifted her eyes away from the floor to take in her friend's feeble frame. He was dirtied, and there, just like she had suspected before, was something wrong with one of his legs. But still he was there for her; still he put himself in danger for her, when those who should've had done so where too preoccupied with their own little-

"What's it with you and all those keys, eh, Hewe?" Her voice broke as she choked, but he didn't stared nor did he pointed a finger at her. He most certainly could not. He couldn't understand it at all, and that was exactly what she needed: a listener instead of a judge.

It was ironic, really, that her one and only supportive friend was someone who couldn't really understand her deepest needs; someone who couldn't tell her it would all be okay - that it would all end up to be alright. Yet, as she grabbed the key he had held firmly in his mouth, she didn't allowed herself to care.

She shifted her vision to the object, her hands twisting and bending it into every direction her mind could think of. It was a blue, kind of purplish actually, and it was hard to fit in her palms but not so easy for her to let go of, too. Yet the most vivid details were not the ones carved in its frame, but the ones that had been spilled all over its corpse.

She crippled her body around and touched her hands to her friend's mouth in a single hasted move. She tugged and pushed at it enough to spy all over its entrails, and couldn't contain the sigh of relief that escaped her lungs when she was left empty handed of her fears.

The blood was not his, and it certainly was not hers. Her fingers and palms had bled back then, when she had tried to force the chain apart, but the liquid had dried long before the colours had returned to her eyes. Not to mention her bandages, if barely, were still in place. No. The blood did not belong to any of them. It belonged to the fat man, and so did the key she held in her grip.

It was hard for her to know what to feel. Relief that her friend had been spared? Guilt that she was the one who had coerced the blood off the man's veins? Dread that she could still end up being a killer if the wounds were deeper than she had seen from afar? None of them or all of them at once!?

Her face morphed into a watery smile, and she readjusted herself to ruffle the dog's fur. He had saved her, yes, but in more ways than she thought at first, and definitely in more ways than he would ever know.

"Good boy, Hewe." Her smile regained a little of its life when she noticed the way his tail flailed around at the praise. It was a warming sight, and she welcomed it with a pair of wide open arms. "Such a good boy, you are!"

Maybe she could still fix things, and, even if the fix would be nothing compared to the damage she had caused, she allowed herself to chance it - she allowed herself to try. She owed it not only to herself, but to Hewe, too, after all.

It was time for Fiona Belli to do the right thing for a change.

o - o - o - o - o

Doing the right thing could be messy, she had heard, but she didn't thought it would end up to be such a literal kind of "messy". Her legs were all bruised by whatever plants were grown in the garden, and, if not for her boots, her feet would had been all dirty from the mud-filled ground.

She had no idea how many twists and turns she had to go through just to find the damn garden, but things took a surprisingly calming tone when she didn't needed to look behind her shoulders every second in search of a crazily fat maniac trying to kill her or rape her, or maybe even both.

Yes, she still had to worry about a rapist and a probably psychotic maid, but neither of them had deliberately chased her around before, and she damn well hoped they would not put an end to that. She was no athlete, damn it! Running away from a fat man, as hard and despair-feeding as it had been, was one thing. But running away from a strong man or a woman with such big legs? That would be suicide!

Her hands fumbled a twig off Hewe's head as the narrow, stone-paved path finally moved up to a close. She couldn't figure out how it could possibly have been so hard for her to find anything regarding the man, when he had found her time and time again. It was probably a combination of familiarity with the place and a drive she did not have, really, but it was hard to say for sure.

She was definitely not familiar with the place, that was for sure. Hell, she had even entertained the idea of seeking the maid out just to ask about his whereabouts, and she was probably as dangerous as him, for crying out loud!

Moonlight revealed a small wooden cabin near the outer walls and light poured off its intestines through the many holes in its tarnished corpse. Fiona couldn't even fathom how anyone could live in such lowly conditions while there was a whole "castle" surrounding them. Or rather, how said castle's owners could allow it to happen in the first place.

A sudden need to make herself presentable snaked its way into her mind, and she gave her legs a few good pats. They still stung a little from the thorns - fuck, she wished they weren't poisonous! - but she had made them free of dirt at the very least.

Her friend, on the other hand, was a far more complicated matter for her to deal with. She did so anyway, of course. Only barely, it had to be said, but, for someone who didn't had experience with dogs, or any "earth animals" for the matter, she believed to have done a pretty good job of it.

She took advantage of her crouched down position to hold the dog's head with care and force their eyes to meet. He whimpered a little, and she thought she had hurt him, but he merely shook his whole body as soon as she let go of him. It seemed like someone wasn't a fan of people messing around with his fur...

"Hewe..." She tried again, this time holding him with more confidence. "I need you to be a good boy again, okay?" He whined. "No, Hewe, we can have none of that!" Even though her voice reprimanded him, he did not flinch away from her stare.

"Look.." She petted his ears a little, and couldn't help but smile a bit at the way he nudged her hand in search for more. "We might have committed a terrible mistake. **I** might have committed a terrible mistake. And maybe we can make things right - maybe we can show him that we're not the bad guys here, you see?"

He scoffed at her, shook his head a bit and sealed his eyes shut. Somehow she knew he didn't gave his gestures the same meaning a human would...but she had no translator for canine gestures, had she?

"Tell you what, Hewe..." She started, and, by the way his ears picked up, she knew he was at least interested in what she had to say. "If you're a good boy and don't make advances on him, then I promise to find something for you to eat." She waited for him to open his eyes to continue. "Do we have a deal?" He wiggled his tail around, and she petted his head a final time.

He was sold.

o - o - o - o - o

The distance from the stone pathway to the cabin was short, but their small exchange had made it into a longer walk. It was probably the most foolish thing she had ever allowed herself to go through - to get distracted with trivial things in a house full of people after her head -, but it was not like she could just...will herself to stop it all at once. That's not how she worked. That's not how **anyone** who shared her conditions worked, for the matter.

She took in a breath, then another and one more as if to make sure her lungs were still intact. She doubted that, though. By the way they burned against her chest, the damn things would probably need a transplant as soon as she left the place. It was quite a funny thought, really, for she always thought she'd need to have them transplanted for the amount of smoke they had to bare in a daily basis...

A shake of her head - it was not the time nor was it the place for her to think like that -, and she knocked on the door, all the while doing her best not to wince at how harsh the wood felt against her skin. Was it really that "barbed", or was it just her hand suffering from its own abuse?

Minutes left their bruise on her skin, but no one answered to her pleas. If she hadn't seen the moving shadows through the gapped walls, she would had believed the cabin to be empty. Being so blatantly ignored was like a bucket of ice-cold water to her head, but it was not enough to falter her resolve...somehow.

Her eyes closed and she took in another breath. She was doing it a lot more than she felt comfortable with, even less so than the "shaking her head" thing. She was to blame for the first, yes, but not for the second. No. Doctor Adam was to blame for giving her such piece of **advice** in the first place.

She tried the doorknob then. She did so with her other hand, if only to make sure it wouldn't shoot pain through her already pained frame again, and it gave in to her ultimate desires. It protested with a loud crack, though, and her wince crippled through the barriers of her face.

Maybe the man wouldn't be so inviting to intruders into what was possibly his home? The numbers of reasons as to why he wouldn't be were abundant in her mind, yet her resolve was already set from the first knock, and her feet, albeit shaky, took her straight into the cabin's womb.

Gore-filled images of removed limbs, of half-eaten animals and even the lifeless carcasses of her parents plagued her mind as her eyes drifted from dust-filled furniture to another, but, to her greatest relief, none of her fears proved themselves to be real.

But, really, what was she thinking in the first place? Hadn't she already decided that the man wasn't the cold-blooded killer she had first assumed him to be? He had almost killed her indirectly through fear and directly through a hug, she couldn't deny that, but both things seemed so...distant from what he was trying to accomplish in her mind. Well, they did so after what she had witnessed back at the cathedral, at least.

Maybe she was wrong about him not being a maniacal killer, or maybe she was wrong about him being one in the first place. Whatever case favoured the truth, as her eyes found his bruised back, she knew that she was far from an innocent witness to his pain.

She had seen a ruined sink on her way in, and the leftover blood that stained its white corpse, but that visage paled in comparison to the liquid that left through the holes poking through his shirt. Had they been caused by the chandelier or where they a consequence of a worn out fabric? She had first assumed them to be produced by the candles, but...

Those moments right there, with her staring at his back and his massive form crippled in front of something she could not see...they where one of the worst moments in her whole life. It was easier, she had but discovered, to endure one's own suffering than the suffering one had carved into the hearts of others.

Slowly, tauntingly so, his bruised face bent around to face hers, and her stomach dropped at the way his eyes widened and his body froze at once, fear clear as crystal beyond his drying tears. And the way he whimpered as his body followed suit would forever be carved into the depths of her soul.

"W-wait!" She took a step back with trepidation when her voice raised louder than she had intended it to. "I'm not here to hurt you, I swear!" She could feel her own chest deform itself over and over again, and could only wish for a quick death if her heart finally decided to implode.

His broken, tired eyes locked into hers, and it was more than a mere war for her to force the bile back down the pathways of her throat. It might have been his fault that she had been backed against the wall, but it was hers that he was crippled in return, and thus she took his silence with the acceptance of a guilty soul.

"Here..." She fumbled with the key she had stored on the inside of her boots, and cursed herself mentally for not taking hold of it any sooner. "Look! You dropped this at the cathedral, right back when..."

She faltered her speech, and it was her time play the mute, but, as she averted her eyes from his recently found ones, she somehow managed to force three words out her throat: "I am sorry..." And then three words more: "I really am."

He stared at her for a long time, his round eyes unblinking, unwavering and completely unwelcome to her own. Maybe that is why she took another shaky breath when his feet drove his frame closer and closer to hers, or maybe it was a mere reflex that fed from her past. Regardless of the truth, it was sheer will alone that forced her to stay in place. That interaction might end up to be her only chance to make things right, after all...

In all her avoidance of his eyes, she missed the way his orbs lost their hardened edge, yet discovered the object that had claimed his attention previous to her intrusions: a small, voodoo-like altar that had probably seen better days. It was bathed in scarlet by red candle flames and she'd think it an evil sight if she hadn't studied those things before. Where the candles supposed to produce that kind of light though?

She only allowed herself to gaze back at the man when he was but inches from her own cautious self. She avoided his eyes still, and focused on the way his hands slowly crept closer to the key, and, by default, to her own.

The warmth of both his hands encircled her lone one. The fear of them being crushed by the mammoth of a man raced through her head, but it was decayed by the gentle, soft way in which he moved her hand back to rest against her own chest. The delicate way in which he shook them, just as a kid curious to what hides inside a gift, yet too afraid to brake whatever secret it might hold, poisoned a bitter taste into her mouth.

His hands left hers and she finally mustered up the courage to look him in the eyes. She couldn't help but notice how small they were compared to his massive frame, or the way the candlelights shone brightly inside his discoloured orbs.

Had they always looked so... **innocent**?

"Are you-" She swallowed hard and coughed the dryness off her throat. Where had her voice escaped to!? "Are you...giving this to me?" She managed, with a raspy voice. It was still far from perfect, but it was already enough for her message to be sent to his ears.

He nodded his head once and took a big step backwards and away from her, his movements slow, cautious even. It was hard for her to pinpoint if her wrongdoings where to blame for his actions, or if it was merely the way he held himself before others, but it was even harder to know if it should matter at all in the end.

"B-but..." She stammered, her eyes darting all around the place while her brain forced her fingers not to fiddle with her own locks - another habit she had acquired in her youth, that one against Doctor Adams' stern lectures. "I don't even know what it unlocks..."

His head twisted aside and he moved away from the altar, past her curious glance and into the gloom hallway, looking behind his shoulders with a grunt that could be anything from a word to an exasperated protest. Was she expected to know what he had meant by that!?

It took her a while to understand he wanted to be followed outside, but she did so without a fight. He was being surprisingly civil towards her, even for someone who hadn't tried to chase her around while being related to her kidnappers, and there was no way she was going to make him change that.

Once beyond the exit, his body slowly shifted to face hers, one of his fingers pointing to the key she still held firmly against her chest. Another grunt and his finger flew off her frame to point up at the barely visible top of what she knew to be the music tower. That message, however, was not hard for her to understand...

"I-I..." She messed up with her own words as his hands clutched the doorknob to his own home. He stopped, his form slumping forward as if in a 'flee on sight' mood, and once again her heart dropped for him. Was there even anything else to be said at that point? Anything healing or meaningful, at the very least?

"I really am sorry for earlier..." His eyes found hers again after her words were thrown to the blowing wind, and, for a second, she forgot how to speak. Why did they had to look so sincere!? "Are you...are you going to be okay?"

A grunt, a nod, a finger pointed at somewhere in the darkness she could not see, and he was gone, the door cracking itself sealed in his wake. She could still hear his footsteps inside, but she dared not call out for him another time, for what could she do if he answered her again, anyway? Tell him she was sorry once more? She mentally scoffed at the thought - as if saying "sorry" would help with anything...

The back of her free hand slowly found her eyes to wipe away the tears she couldn't hold anymore. A breath with far too many emotions for the turmoil of her mind to comprehend escaped from her lungs, and she knew that she had to put an end to it all. It would do either of them no good for her to cry like that.

She had done something to make things right, at the very least...even if it was a small, inconsequential thing that had run through its own course, regardless of her plots. Still, she had done it, and it was enough to put her mind at ease, if only for a little while.

She looked at Hewe's curious orbs and bent down to her knees as a cold breeze penetrated through the fabrics of her clothes, sending shivers up and across her spine.

"You were a really, really good boy there, buddy" She made sure to pet his head as she said so. He could see the tears still inside her eyes, she knew, but he wouldn't understand them, and that was exactly what she needed at that moment.

Her eyes left his to stare up at the music tower. It was devoured by darkness, not even a single flame burning its way from its womb. Or maybe there were just no windows up there for her to see any lights from afar. It was simply impossible for her to know from where she stood.

Another kind of shivers left their imprint into her body and her eyes darted around in a hurry, stopping a moment too long at one of the windows by the kitchen's door. There was someone hiding in the shadows and she could taste the pair of eyes that bore into hers, no matter how far away they might had been.

She got up and took a step forward and away from the macabre silhouette. It seemed she would have to put a hold to the promises she had made to Hewe, but it would certainly be for the best of them both. And, really, how long could it take them to investigate the music tower? That place was probably "empty", anyway.

"Come on, Hewe" She whispered behind her shoulders as she prepared herself to walk away, her apologetic eyes a perfect match to her tone. "We gotta go." He barked, and she swore she could hear the disappointment that laced his heart. He followed her suit, nonetheless, and she fought against herself on how to feel about that loyalty of his.

"We can fetch you something to eat soon, Hewe, I promise." He gave her another bark, that one slightly less crestfallen than its twin, and she allowed herself a small smile while she tucked the key inside her boots for the umpteenth time.

Things were finally starting to look good for them. She just hoped they wouldn't get anymore complicated that they needed to...

o - o - o - o - o

The door on the ground level had been locked down tight and there were no ways for her to force it to do as she pleased. She felt terrible as she climbed up the vertical ladder to the second floor, for she knew that, in a way, she had just broken her only friend's trust once more. But maybe he would understand, or wouldn't care about it. He was unable to climb it together with her, after all.

She shook her head as she stepped through the balcony and found the entrance to be unlocked. What was the point in locking the door below if its twin did not suffer the same fate? Whoever had done so was doing a hell of a good job of it...if pissing her off was their intention, of course.

Her eyes took the place in with a curiosity born from her long, lonely nights at art school. It was shaped in a somewhat spiral form she couldn't see from the outside, yet remembered from before, and its walls displayed plenty of art pieces she had never seen in her life. Whoever had painted them felt no need to save their name in their work, but they were all too good to be amateurs. Could they be the work of her captors? If so, had art played a part in the whole ordeal?

She sure as hell hoped not.

It was hidden behind a couple of handrails, but she still managed to see the classic black piano, the same one that man - something disgusting stirred inside her chest at the thought - had played before. She just wished he wasn't still creeping around the place.

The thought of him being the one who locked the door somehow managed to break a small smile out of her. If it had indeed been his doing, then he wasn't very smart, and that would give her a great advantage. An advantage that she no doubt would need when facing him, if at all.

A minute of browsing through the second floor, mayhaps two, were all she needed to find the big, metallic door. Rust had crawled all around its dark blue carcass, but, by the almost perfectionist way in which it was cleaned, there were no doubts to her that it was not due to a lack of care. No. Whoever had polished it so much truly cared about the thing.

 **But why not change it for a new, non-rusted one?**

She reached the metallic construction far sooner than she thought she would, and ran her hands along its cold, hardened frame, as if to make sure that it was real.

Small protrusions brushed against her fingers, and she stopped her movements in wonder. Could it be Braille? She knew nothing about the language other than it was made so blind people could read, though, so it could be just her imagination...

Her hands took the key off her boots, almost dropping it in their ungraceful haste, and her eyes fixed themselves on the lock. She could hear her own heart pounding at her chest and feared someone else could do the same, too. But that was not possible in real life...was it?

She gulped down the bile in her throat and somehow resisted the urge to look around the room, focusing on approaching the key from the lock instead. Its blue corpse shone against one of the lights from the squeaking chandelier - she flinched - as she did so, and she couldn't help but notice how similar its material felt to the door's own.

The object violated the mechanism with ease, and she let out a shivering sigh. It had fitted the damn thing perfectly! She would have to make sure to thank the man later, that was for fucking sure!

Her hands had but started to twist the key around when her lungs failed her at once. Panic stirred itself in her heart as her eyes took in the small, delicate hand that slowly, yet surely encircled her own, harsh nails scratching softly at her skin.

It took her all she had not to scream when she felt the warmth oozing off the person behind her, and even more so for her face to bend itself around to meet the eyes of her stalker. Fuck, she thought she would die each time her heart beat!

Her stomach dropped at the familiar set of lifeless eyes that bore into hers. Her throat refused to work and the bile took hold of its entrails by the seconds, almost forcing itself off her mouth.

"Dinner is served, Miss..." The maid's voice was as lifeless as her eyes, yet still managed to carry an elegant blend of lure and charm Fiona could not explain. The woman only tilted her head to a side in a gesture far too similar to her friend's when she offered her no answer, too flustered to reply.

The grip on her hand tightened a bit and her eyes grew wider as the woman crushed her body against her own. She fought down a blush at the feeling of the woman's breasts pressing against hers, but could not contain the shivers that trembled her knees.

What was she **thinking**!?

What was she **doing**!?

They never broke eye contact as the maid's face reached hers, their lips almost touching and their breaths tangling into a single messy one. Her nostrils were violated by the most alluring perfume they had ever known, and she knew they'd long for it forever more. Hell, if beauty had a scent, it would certainly be that one!

"Dinner is served, Miss..." The voice was a tease that sent the wrong kind of shivers deep into Fiona's core, regardless of how lifeless it had managed to sound. It was purely out of fear, she reassured herself. Purely out of-

The woman's eyes rearranged themselves into a half-lidded stance, and her breath hitched, her thighs clenched and her heart throbbed in a new depraved way.

 **Fuck**...


End file.
